Ho oku i
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: An argument leads to a kiss, leads to something more. A series of drabbles and one-shots, mostly, and not necessarily connected either, though some are (hodgepodge) - they kind of skip around, and now I've added story arcs. Newest installment - back to the box 'verse, Steve angst and then fluff and cheesiness. Grace and Danny cuddles.
1. More than a Feeling

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters portrayed in this work of fiction.

A/N: My failed attempt at doing the ipod shuffle type of writing. This is a drabble series, and the titles do come from the songs that I was listening to as I wrote...just couldn't seem to write pieces which were thematically separate. Sorry...

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><p>"More than a Feeling" by Boston<p>

"Do you even know why I'm mad?" Danny fumed, pacing the office. His face held a look of pure anger on it, and his hands were paused in mid-air as he turned steely blue eyes on his partner.

Steve couldn't even formulate an answer, shook his head in the negative. He was unsure of whether or not the question was one which required an actual answer from him. As a matter of fact, he was fairly certain that it was a question Danny would answer for him because, well, any answer he would come up with on his own was bound to be wrong. It's just how these conversations between the both of them went. If one could call a one-sided rant a conversation that is.

"Uh…" Steve opened his mouth to respond, and sighed when Danny held up a preemptive hand.

"Just…just, whatever it is you're going to say, don't."

So, it was one of those one-sided conversations yet again, Steve leaned back against the doorframe, getting settled for the long-haul.


	2. Ain't No Sunshine

"Ain't No Sunshine" by Bill Withers

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><p>"You know, you could have at least called and told me that you were going to be late."<p>

Danny's rant had been going on for a good half an hour and Steve had all but tuned him out. He'd forgotten what it was that he'd done wrong and was wondering if Danny even remembered the offense himself.

A crazy thought entered his mind, and Steve, for lack of a better defense simply gave into the impulse. When Danny took a breath, barely pausing in his speech, he crossed the room and, grasping the detective's face between his hands, he pulled him in for a kiss. The fact that his tongue entered the other man's mouth, was a fortunate 'accident' facilitated by Danny's attempt to continue talking in spite of his distraction. What happened next, however, was no accident.


	3. I Won't Back Down

"I Won't Back Down" by Tom Petty

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><p>"You know, Danny, you could let the boss get a word in edgewise every now and again," Kono suggested, grimacing at the quelling look the acerbic man sent her.<p>

"Just what do you mean by that?" Danny's steps faltered as he walked to a chair and sat down.

"Um, well," she floundered for the right words to say, wanting to placate her friend and yet make her point. "You know, you could like um…" her words came out all jumbled and she blushed.

"What I mean to say, is that he wouldn't have had to um…you know…resort to um…other uh…methods," she cleared her throat, her blush deepening, "to you know…" she trailed off, looking away.

Okay, so she wasn't as brave when confronted by a red-faced, bewildered Danny Williams as she was when chasing down a perp. Maybe she'd try again later, when Danny had calmed down some. He had to calm down at some point in time, right? Though, with what she'd accidentally interrupted between the two lead men on Five-0, she wagered that he'd need more than a few minutes to regain his equilibrium.

"I'll just let myself out," she said, smiling at the slightly disoriented look plastered on Danny's face. His plush lips were flushed and pursed; the blue of his eyes was startling bright in contrast to the dilated pupils.


	4. Dollars and Cents

"Dollars and Cents" by Radiohead

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><p>Steve sat in the cab of his truck, staring, unseeing, out the windshield. Several people walked past; some casting a confused or paranoid eye toward the lone occupant.<p>

For his part, though, Steve was back at headquarters, tongue deep in Danny's mouth. Hands wandering of their own accord, taking an inventory of muscles, curves, ass-dimples. Heart pounding in a maddening rush of blood so loud that it all but drowned out their moans.

The phantom memory of Danny's hands, coarse, abrupt, pushing him away before he'd finished what he'd started derailed his train of thought and he blinked, letting the sun, high and bright in an almost cloudless sky clear his mind of the images. The feel of Danny's hard erection pressed against his thigh, though, that he couldn't seem to blink away.


	5. Make This go on Forever

"Make This Go on Forever" by Snow Patrol

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><p>"What just happened?" Danny whispered to himself.<p>

Even in the safe confines of his empty office, he could feel Steve pressing against him. Firm, hard chest; arms solid; muscles rippling beneath his fingertips. His breath, strangely minty-fresh. His tongue wet, hot, demanding.

He shivered, goose bumps breaking out along his skin now bereft of the warmth that was strangely not as unwelcome as he'd made it out to be. He'd panicked.

"I shouldn't have panicked." He ran his fingers through his hair, ignoring the way they trembled.

Closing his eyes, he let out a shaky breath and wondered how he'd make things right.


	6. Stolen

"Stolen" by Dashboard Confessional

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><p>"We gotta help them cuz," Kono was practically running to catch up with Chin. Her cousin was shaking his head at her antics, ignoring her.<p>

He hadn't seen what had happened, and was grateful. There was no way he was going to do anything to either encourage or discourage whatever it was that may or may not be happening between the two men he'd come to view as brothers. It wasn't any of his business, and if Kono had any sense, she'd let it go.

Kono's hand on his arm stopped him as he reached his motorcycle. Sighing, he turned to face her.

"Kono, drop it," he advised the stubborn woman, already knowing that his words had fallen on deaf ears when he caught that familiar glint in her eyes. It was the same look she'd given him when insisting that he tell the truth. She was as tenacious as a pit-bull. He almost pitied McGarrett and Williams, but was relieved to no longer be the sole focus of his cousin's schemes.

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><p>AN: Some feedback (i.e. reviews) would be nice.


	7. Wayne on Me

"Wayne on Me" by Lil Wayne

A/N: Absolutely ridiculous title for this drabble, but I am a stickler for some of the rules...granted that I kind of suck at the whole non-connected aspect of the music shuffle rule, but others, I stick to, hence the name of this drabble. Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things.

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><p>Steve let the music of the waves wash over him, cleansing his spirit and calming his thoughts. The ocean had always been able to help him clear his mind and gain a fresh perspective. Just as his heart began to beat out a regular rhythm, an unfamiliar tone erupted from his cellphone, shattering his peace and the moment.<p>

Danny's face flashed on the screen. His grin, too wide, revealed imperfect white teeth and the memory of their teeth accidentally gnashing together during their impromptu kiss scudded to the forefront of his mind.

He bit his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth as his thumb lingered over the image of his colleague smiling innocently, trustingly up at him. Chocolate, sweet and zesty mingled with the mint of his toothpaste, and he ran his tongue over the inside of his lip, savoring the remnant of Danny as he pressed the green call button.


	8. Muscle Museum

"Muscle Museum (Soulwax Remix)" by Muse

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><p>Setting the meet up hadn't been all that hard. Watching the two men stand awkwardly in the doorway of the bar, ill-at-ease as they greeted each other was almost physically painful. She sent up a silent prayer that they would stop with the pretense already.<p>

Given that the two men, even with their discomfit, seemed to have eyes only for each other, it was easy for Kono to watch them covertly from a corner of the bar.

She stifled a triumphant cheer when they finally entered the establishment together, shoulder pressed to shoulder because both had ushered the other in first and had been too stubborn to capitulate. Phase number one, and two of her plan had gone smoothly. The rest, unfortunately, was up to them. She hoped they wouldn't screw up all her hard work.


	9. Angel's Wings

"Angel's Wings" by Social Distortion

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><p>Danny's palms were sweaty and he felt slightly sick to his stomach. He clutched the beer as though it was a lifeline. He flashed to the first date he'd ever had, Slyvia something, lots of curves, not a whole lot of brains, and his stomach did a little flip-flop when he caught Steve watching him from the corner of his eye.<p>

His mouth was dry in spite of how much he'd had to drink in the short amount of time they'd been there. He'd lost count after three. There was a jukebox spewing out some nameless song. He could feel eyes on him and looked around, but couldn't find the source of his unease.

Lightheaded, swaying slightly, he stood from the barstool and almost tripped over some asshole's foot. He raised a finger, and opened his mouth, but the angry words, which were right on the tip of his tongue, though it seemed that speech had left him from the moment he set foot in the bar, never left his mouth.


	10. Time to Pretend

"Time to Pretend" by MGMT

A/N: And this is the end.

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><p>Steve, overcome by some force outside of himself, finally came to his senses when Danny pulled back, gasping for air. Foreheads pressed together, they panted, waiting for the room to come into focus again.<p>

The slightly tipsy detective had been about to say something stupid to some behemoth of a man and Steve, unable to think of anything else, had pressed his lips to Danny's at the first sign of trouble.

The sharp, bitter taste of beer assaulted his tongue, and he reveled in it, taking more, pressing his advantage. Danny's mouth – open, wet, pliant –was inviting.

Taking a shaky breath, Steve pulled back, looking at Danny.

"So, Danno, what do you think?" He asked, nodding toward the door. "My place or yours?"

Danny, unable to speak, (and just when had those tables turned on him?) nodded dumbly.

Chuckling, Steve led his partner out of the bar. Tonight, it'd be his place, a stone's throw away from the ocean.


	11. Not a Girl

A/N: I've given some thought to this, and have decided to continue...let me know what you think, and if it is something that should indeed be continued. If not, well, I think I'm happy with it ending with a tenth drabble and leaving the rest to readers' imaginations.

This is a double drabble because it just needed the extra bit of time. Thank you for reading.

"Leaving on a Jet Plane" by Peter, Paul and Mary

"Kathy's Song" by Paul Simon

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><p>Danny felt as giddy as a schoolgirl on her first date and that gave him cause for concern. He wasn't a girl, he wasn't some young teenager hyped up on hormones, itching to get laid. He was a full-blooded American man and he had to set that straight before, well, before…<p>

"I'm not a girl," he blurted out and shook his head, closing his eyes as though in pain. _Eloquent, Detective Williams_, he thought and took a deep breath in order to clarify his thoughts.

For his part, Steve was looking at him out of the corner of his eye, lips twisted up in some sort of smirk that Danny found difficult to read as he refused to look at him.

"That is," Danny cleared his throat, raising a hand and letting it fall, "that is, I'm not…" why the hell was this so hard for him to say?

"I know Danno," Steve forestalled. "Look, this doesn't have to go anywhere. We'll take it one step at a time."

Danny snorted, shaking his head in relief and amusement. There was still one thing he had to make perfectly clear.

"What I'm trying to say, doofus, if you'll let me get a word in edgewise," Danny ignored Steve's derisive grunt as he continued, "is that I," and he emphasized the next four words, punctuating each with a jab in Steve's direction, "Am. Not. A. girl."

"'Course you're not Danno," Steve attempted incredulous, but it came out somewhere between sincere and mocking. He would have closed his eyes if he hadn't been driving. Groaning, he realized that he had a lot fast talking to do in order to salvage this night.

"My house is in the other direction," Danny's voice had a cutting edge to it and Steve inwardly cursed. His partner's posture was stiff, and he stared straight out of the windshield.

"Look, I understand," Steve said, "you're not a girl, I'm not a girl. Hell, Danno, we're both two grown men. Just…"

"Just what?" Danny turned to look at Steve, uncertain and a little fearful of what he'd see on the other man's face.

"Just, let's give this a chance?" Steve hated how that'd come out as a question and he glanced worriedly at Danny, hoping that he hadn't messed things up too terribly when he hadn't taken his partner seriously. If he had to, he'd whip the car around and head back to Danny's place and drop the other man off, but he really hoped that it wouldn't come to that.


	12. Can I Kick It?

"Can I Kick It?" by A Tribe Called Quest

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><p>Danny glanced sideways at Steve, and was surprised at the look of undisguised anguish he saw. The man's face was easy to read, something which Danny usually relished and took delight in poking fun at by designating sobriquets for the different expressions. Now, though, he couldn't find an appropriate label for the look on his partner's face, and what he saw did not make him happy.<p>

"Okay," Danny said roughly. He rubbed at his face, glancing once again at Steve who cast him a questioning look.

Danny nodded.

"Okay, let's…"

He raised his hands, gesturing between the both of them, mindful of the limited space afforded him in the interior of the car. Looking sidelong at Steve as he spoke, he noted absentmindedly that the SEAL's mouth was partially open.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling very hot as his eyes were drawn to Steve's mouth.

"Let's give this, whatever this is…" his hands and words faltered as his lips burned with the memory of Steve's lips pressed to his own. Supple, warm, needy. The slightly bitter taste of hops lingered ghostlike, and Danny ran his tongue over his lips in recollection, savoring the earthy flavor, suddenly wanting more.

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><p>Feedback is most welcome and appreciated.<p> 


	13. Just the Two of Us

**A/N:** I hope that this isn't moving too slowly. I am not one for just straight up PWP…like to build things up and be as 'realistic' as possible, and I don't think things would get off to all that smooth of a start for these two. But, if things are boring, I could try to 'spice' it up a bit…

Double song night.

"Just the Two of Us" by Will Smith

"Mr. Brightside" by The Killers

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><p>It was just the two of them, and Steve was nervous. He took a steadying breath, brushing his sweaty palms on his jeans. It didn't help. He glanced at Danny and noted, with a small measure of satisfaction, that his partner was just as nervous.<p>

Apparently this was new territory for the both of them. Now that he'd reached his home, he wasn't sure what to do. Danny had been over many times before. It shouldn't be any different now, but it was. Now, there was pressure and there were expectations that Steve couldn't even name. What the hell had he gotten the both of them into?

He tried to put his thoughts into order, but made the mistake of looking at Danny, who, although facing away, was backlit by the moon. An alluring golden halo was ringing his head, making him appear angelic and strangely vulnerable. That was not a word that Steve normally associated with his partner and it was unnerving.

What had started out as only a kiss had evolved into something more. He should take Danny home, not let things go any further between them. Not let things get complicated. Not run the risk of losing something which could be terrific. Not…

His tumultuous thoughts were abruptly cut off, stifled by an unexpected tug on his face. Danny's calloused fingers were gentle as they dug into his chin, pulling his mouth down to meet his in a tentative, questing kiss.

Throwing caution to the wind, Steve abandoned his misgivings and leaned into the kiss – taking, tasting, teasing, pushing, his hands traveling over Danny's chest, down to the juncture where his shirt was tucked into his slacks.

"House, now," he managed on a breath-gathering pause.

The disappointed pout, Danny's lower lip thrust out and trembling as he struggled to bring his breathing under control, was almost his undoing. He had to close his eyes and turn his head. Counting to five beneath his breath, he opened the car door and slammed it shut behind him as he quickly made his way to the front door.

He fumbled with the doorknob and nearly jumped out of his skin when Danny's hand closed around his own, his touch electric. Together, they managed to get the uncooperative door open and stumbled into the dark living room.

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><p>As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.<p> 


	14. Feel So Good

A/N: Thank you so much for reviewing and for adding to your favorite/alert list. This drabble varies from the previous ones in that it is in the present tense, as opposed to simple past or present perfect tense. I apologize if anyone finds this incongruity jarring.

"Feel So Good" by Mase and "In Da Club" by 50 Cent

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><p>This was bad, he was almost certain of it. Kissing your boss in the car, groping him in an unlit living room, knocking over a lamp as you try to figure out how to make your fingers work properly…none of that can be good.<p>

_So, so bad_, Danny thinks as he manages to hitch Steve's shirt up far enough so that his hands can touch the warm, taut skin rippling with muscles that shiver beneath his touch.

He almost feels heady with the power that his touch has over Steve, and he uses it to tease, much like he used to do with Rachel. Except, this isn't Rachel, there are no soft, graceful curves to run his hands up and over. There is no give when he pushes. No pert, round breasts to cup or suckle.

The terrain of Steve's body is different, and it sparks something inside of him that he cannot, for the life of him, understand. He just knows that, whatever this is, it's good, and he wants more of it. Now.

_Bad is good_, he thinks, _and I'm going to straight to hell. Don't even bother to pass go to collect that hundred dollars, it'd just burn up anyway._

Reveling in the groan elicited from his featherlike strokes along the SEAL's ridiculously perfect six-pack, he takes advantage of the open mouth, darting his tongue inside, inwardly smiling as Steve moans in pleasure, his hips jerking forward, stomach muscles clenching.

Rachel had always praised his kissing abilities, told him that she could lose herself in one of his kisses and that they left her feeling weak-kneed and dizzy.

He draws Steve's tongue into his mouth, sucking, releasing, and noting textures and flavors, so unlike Rachel or any other woman he'd ever had the pleasure of kissing. Wild, pungent, bitter, spicy…

Steve's mouth is hot and flavorful, strong and yet yielding. Their tongues tango briefly for dominance; Danny's winning out momentarily as Steve's knees buckle when they back into the couch. Tripping, they land, limbs akimbo, atop the cushions, Danny half sprawled on top of Steve, engorged groin pressed to groin.

"Sorry." Danny pants. His attempt to extricate himself from the awkward position thwarted by a restraining arm from Steve.

"This is good," Steve's voice is low and throaty.

"Bu…" Danny's protest is cut off as Steve captures his mouth in a breath stealing kiss.

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><p>Again, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.<p> 


	15. All Falls Down

A/N: Not sure whether this came out well or not.

"All Falls Down" by Kanye West and "Doo Wop (That Thing)" by Lauryn Hill

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><p>Steve felt feverish. Danny's body, while not exactly an unple asant weight, was pinning him to the couch and the heat being generated by the both of them was making him sweat. Not that he minded; it would work in their favor, giving them incentive to remove their prohibitive clothing quicker than it would if there had been no heat between them.<p>

He needed more leverage, and it was with this thought that he positioned his hands on Danny's hips, twisting his own, shifting and maneuvering until he had somehow managed to flip their positions. It was a testament to how often he'd engaged in this kind of activity, albeit usually with a partner of the opposite sex, that he was able to execute the move without breaking their kiss.

Danny, beneath him, panting, eyes dilated, lips parted, was a sight to behold. He rolled his hips in a provocative move that always had Catherine purring in response. Danny's reaction was not something Steve could ever have anticipated, and he bit back a groan as he realized that he was quite literally bursting at the seams, his clothing a restrictive hindrance that he couldn't remove quickly enough.

Danny, for his part, was ready to take certain matters into his own, more than capable hands. Hands which, while calloused through hard, honest work, were deft and dexterous. Hands which were even now working at Steve's stubborn zipper, brushing aside his partner's interfering fingers with impatience. He'd already shimmied out of his own pants while Steve had been intent upon the act of repositioning them. His hips hung free, cock poking up through his boxers and into Steve's thigh.

He was on fire, and Steve's zipper was being a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, much like the irritating man himself. There was only one thing he wanted, and he wanted it now. Kissing was no longer enough, and though there was a niggling fear at the back of his mind telling him that once things were carried out as far as his libido was demanding, there would be no turning back, he didn't care.

His cock shifted and reason went out the window, giving lus t the floor. He begged Steve's zipper to cooperate even as he nibbled and nipped at the man's neck, savoring the slick, briny flavor as he licked and sucked hard enough to leave his mark on the juncture between collarbone and neck. He sighed audibly when the zipper finally gave and he felt Steve's erection pulsing against his palm.

"Nhnn…"

_Incoherent as always_, Danny thought as he pushed and tugged at Steve's obstinate jeans. He practically crowed when the tight material gave way to his jockeying, and slid down past Steve's hips. Danny squeezed Steve's ass possessively, praising the powers that be that it was finally free of the constrictive material.

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><p>Feedback is greatly appreciated.<p> 


	16. The Man Who Can't Be Moved

Disclaimer: Can be found in the initial chapter.

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><p>"The Man Who Can't Be Moved" by The Script<p>

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><p>"Wait," Steve reluctantly pulled away from Danny, making eye contact with his partner. He read lust and frustration within the piercing blue eyes.<p>

"Condom," Steve grunted. "Lube."

What else was needed? And why the hell didn't he keep any of these items within easy reach?

"You know, this wouldn't be a problem had we gone to my place." Danny quirked an eyebrow, his mouth upturning in a mocking smirk even as he lightly squeezes an ass cheek and brushes a thumb across the head of Steve's dick, eliciting something close to a whimper from Steve. "Everything we need, right there, couch, bed, all the necessary accouterments."

If his arms hadn't been otherwise engaged, Steve knew that Danny's words would be accompanied by precisely timed gesticulations, matching the sentiment of what he was saying. It was one of the things about his partner which he found to be as endearing as it was annoying.

He repositioned himself until he was fully straddling Danny's lithe hips, maintaining eye contact the entire time, appreciating the myriad shades of blue swirling in the depths of his partner's eyes. Capturing the man's wrists in one broad hand, he tugged them until he had them positioned over Danny's head, and leaned down until their mouths were flush.

"Is that so?" he asked, his lips grazing Danny's, parting them as he spoke.

Danny, wide-eyed, nodded dumbly, blushing in spite of himself. Steve's breath was hot against his mouth, his tongue gentle as it coaxed his mouth open wider. Danny's snarky comeback was swallowed up in an impassioned kiss before he could even completely formulate it in his thoughts.

"I think," Steve's words were muffled by Danny's lips, "we've got everything," Steve paused to deepen the kiss, "we need."

Danny pulled experimentally at his wrists, seeing what give he had. The momentary panic he felt when Steve's hold remained ironclad was quickly supplanted by a mounting tension in his groin. Steve nibbled on his bottom lip while the fingers of the SEAL's free hand playfully twisted his right nipple, causing the detective to shiver in pleasure.

"Right." Steve tightened his grip on Danny, enjoying the power play between them as Danny writhed beneath him, trying, unsuccessfully, to loosen his hold.

"Here." Steve breathed into his mouth and Danny's heart stopped for a split-second before thundering with renewed vigor in his chest, the pounding of his heart was almost painfully loud in his ears.

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><p>Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you! :D<p> 


	17. Obsession

**Disclaimer: **See initial entry.

**A/N: **Was having a hard time crafting this chapter, worrying about getting things 'right'. That's why it took forever. And, of course, I am still worried...

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><p>"Obsession" by Animotion<p>

"Uhn," Danny moaned.

Steve's tongue – wet and hot, soft, yet unyielding – was mapping a leisurely path from Danny's collarbone to sternum, lapping and laving the sweat-slick skin. The light stubble on his normally clean-shaven chin tickled and raised goose bumps along Danny's naked flesh.

Danny's wrists were still clasped firmly in Steve's hand. The inability to match touch for touch aggravated him, and he bucked upward in an attempt to break the hold, jaw clenching, teeth grinding with the wasted effort of trying to gain the upper hand.

He was no match for the Navy SEAL, whose upper body strength rivaled that of a professional wrestler, but he did have one advantage over the Commander, and he grunted as he raised his hips, half-hard cock brushing against Steve's firm stomach. Burrowing his feet into the cushions of the couch, he straddled Steve's hips with his knees and, using the leverage he'd gained, he shifted his body beneath Steve's.

Finally pulling loose of Steve's handhold, Danny grasped Steve's shoulders with calloused fingers, his grip just short of bruising. He savored the ability to finally touch his partner, and took pride in the shudder that his touch elicited as he ran his hands down the middle of Steve's rigid back, fingers caressing the flesh on either side of his spine as he scrabbled to secure a hold on him.

Corresponding shivers ransacked both his and Steve's bodies as Steve's hands found purchase on Danny's ass – hands cupping, thumbs kneading the sculpted cheeks – and Danny's mouth latched onto his partner's in a heady, ravenous kiss, his teeth gently tugging on Steve's lower lip.

Danny's toes tunneled into the crevasse between the couch cushions as he inched downward along the couch, knees hiked up toward his chest. He used the crack between the couch cushions to anchor himself and gripped Steve's hips firmly with trembling hands.

Breaking the kiss, he panted, his forehead resting in the hollow of Steve's neck as he concentrated on breathing. Steve stilled, the thumb of his right hand resting between Danny's clenched ass cheeks.

"Tell me what you want me to do," Steve murmured.

His voice was low and husky, his lips grazing Danny's earlobe as he spoke.

Danny shivered. His mouth opened and closed as he attempted to say the words which stood at the tip of his tongue, even as they skirted around the edge of his mind, toying with him. What did he want? _Fuck._ What _did _he want?

Soldier boy was at his beck and call, asking what _he _wanted. His cock was hard, throbbing, weeping with need and his fingers bit into Steve's hips as he struggled to put what he wanted into words.

"C'mon Danno, work with me here. Don't know what I'm doing," Steve admitted sheepishly, shrugging slightly.

Danny licked his lips, raising his eyes to look into Steve's and locking with them. He flinched at the raw emotion he read in them and swallowed, blinking rapidly as his heart raced, beating madly against his ribcage.

What did he want? He wanted to be the solitary object of Steve's laser like focus, to wholly and utterly capture the man's attention and hold it indefinitely.

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><p>Please review and thank you to SteveMDannyLuvr for your recent review which spurred me to write tonight. I appreciate everyone else's reviews, favoriting and alerts as well. Thank you!<p> 


	18. Never There

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter

**A/N: **Thank you to those who are still reading. For some reason this song was rather distracting...and, as a result, this chapter is rather shortish compared to the last one (btw, animalistic and glomming are words; at least in the American English version of Word).

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><p>"Never There" by Cake<p>

Steve didn't know when the tables had turned, couldn't quite put his finger on the exact point his partner had managed to break free of his hold, but as Danny's hands cupped his bare ass, squeezing and groping, he couldn't be bothered to care. The man's tongue was in his mouth, doing things that, quite frankly, Steve hadn't thought possible. Kissing Catherine had never been like this – demanding and bruising as it stole breath from his lungs and plundered the depths of his throat, eliciting wordless moans.

Her hands, smaller, softer, had never managed to grip his ass in quite the same fashion as Danny's broader, stronger ones did. He was certain that he'd never been this close to coming during foreplay with her either. He needed some sort of release, and soon.

All sane thought had long since gone out the window and Steve was left with little more than burning desire and animalistic instincts as Danny, still beneath him, wriggled and writhed as he worked to gain a foothold, mooring himself to the couch and glomming to him. Danny's knees were hitched up toward his chest, and his hard cock was poking Steve in the belly. Yet something else that was new and difficult for him to categorize.

Steve's thumbs, nestled snugly between his partner's ass cheeks, were nudging the cheeks apart, fingers digging into the downy flesh as he sought to gain access to what his mind was telling him on some subliminal level, was forbidden fruit.

Driven by some primitive urge to mount and conquer, Steve worked Danny's cheeks apart, and managed to communicate with his partner, though his tongue was thick and largely uncooperative, asking Danny what he wanted.

He'd always thought that sex was sex. Plain, simple, predictable. But, with Danny, nothing had ever been simple or predictable, and this was new territory for Steve. He didn't want to make any mistakes. Didn't want to hurt his partner.

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><p>Reviews are greatly appreciated. Mahalo!<p> 


	19. Hero

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter.

**A/N: **Almost a proper drabble, just a little over a hundred words and written nearly within the limits of the song (a couple of seconds after). Kono's thoughts.

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><p>"Hero" by Skillet<p>

Kono wasn't sure that she should have orchestrated events the way she had. _What were Danny and Steve up to now?_ she wondered.

Had she done the right thing?

She bit her lip, hesitantly. She really should have listened to Chin and not gotten involved. Who was she to push two grown men together?

She should have left well enough alone, and let nature take its course. They would have eventually come together on their own, or not at all, without her help in it.

But, she'd done what she'd done and couldn't take any of it back. She just hoped that however things turned out tonight, the men would not look on her in a different light. That they wouldn't hate her.


	20. Fever

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter**  
><strong>

**A/N: **A fellow ECT member helped fine tune some aspects of this chapter. Please overlook any mistakes you may find in grammar, spelling and/or punctuation (I am imperfect at best). Thank you, and I hope that you enjoy the chapter, such as it is - mistakes and all ;). **  
><strong>

"Fever" - multiple artists

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><p>"Fever"<p>

"Just, just, fuck, uhn, Steven, fuck," Danny responded, drawing out his partner's name, breath hitching on the final syllable, 'fuck' coming out as little more than a breathy whisper.

Tongue-tied, Danny grunted, dragging his hands from Steve's ass to touch his own swollen erection. Gripping it tightly, his fingers brush against Steve's stomach, causing the muscles to grow rigid, and Danny to release a low, guttural moan that almost doesn't make its way out of his throat.

It's all he can do to keep breathing. He's dizzy, head spinning as his brain struggles to catalogue each of the new sensations coursing through him. He's burning up, body on fire – a million and one fire ants setting his nerves on edge, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

He can feel Steve's thumbs, the blunt nails grazing the insides of his ass cheeks, the man's fingers burrowing into his flesh, bruising him. It hurts a little and his breath catches in a soft whimper.

Steve stills, his body heavy against Danny's. Blue eyes, normally filled with unleashed fury, are sizzling with desire and clouded with concern. He pulls away, but Danny shakes his head and lunges upward, his teeth scraping the rough edge of Steve's jaw before he's able to capture his partner's mouth with his own, drawing him downward, and encouraging the bruise-inducing grip Steve has on his rear to tighten as their bodies respond blindly to each other's touch.

"Danno…" whatever Steve was going to add to his name is lost as Danny practically swallows his tongue and Steve responds by returning this kiss, his stomach muscles rippling as they tense and release.

Danny's hand lightly squeezes his dick, trapped upright between their stomachs, and he starts to stroke himself as their kiss deepens. Abruptly, Steve breaks away from the kiss and, wordlessly, he removes one of his hands from Danny's ass, leaving him feeling strangely bereft.

His toes curled as Steve's tongue laved the hollow of his neck, while, sightlessly, Steve used his hand to pull open a drawer of the end table situated somewhere behind the arm of the couch, beyond Danny's head, and almost beyond Steve's reach.

Danny's too preoccupied, fisting his dick, pulling, stroking, running his hand up and down the pre-cum slickened shaft, using the fingers of his other hand to fondle the head of Steve's erect penis, his lips sucking and teeth nipping at his partner's earlobe, to pay much attention.

The hand Steve has on his ass squeezes him a little too hard as Steve moans, his hips thrusting forward in response to Danny's touch.

Steve's quiet, "Aha," garners Danny's attention and he turns his head to see what his friend has been rummaging for as he pulls it free, finally bringing it into view. The drawer falls, with a soft thud, to the floor, but Steve triumphantly holds up a partially used white tube of lubricant.

"Knew I had some nearby."

Danny could hear, but not see the grin on his partner's face, his eyes, long-adjusted to the relative darkness of the living room, were locked on Steve's erection as the man repositioned himself. _Fuck, he's big as sin, _Danny thought, his eyes traveling to his own, slightly smaller erect member. He couldn't help but feel somewhat inadequate by comparison, but was soon brought out of his contemplations of inferiority when Steve's hand, also bigger than his own, blocked his vision.

"Supposed to uh," Steve cleared his throat and Danny's eyes were immediately drawn to his partner's face, which was blushing nearly imperceptibly, "prolong," Steve waved his hand, "you know, uh…by numbing…"

Bemused at Steve's embarrassment, Danny shook his head, using the hand he had been teasing Steve with to cup his partner's cheek, rubbing his thumb along the man's stubbled jawline.

Danny said his voice smoky with lust, "That sounds like an ideal plan to me, Steven, simply ideal..." Words seemed a stupid waste of time and to show that he was entirely on board with any method of enhancing this already mind-blowing experience, he pulled down on Steve's neck and, by forcing his partner's face closer to his own, was able to nip sharply at Steve's lower lip.

"Want to use of that _special _lube of yours on that?" He teased as, fascinated, he watched a small droplet of blood forming on the bottom half of that perfectly shaped mouth.

With a touch of mischievousness, Steve seductively ran his tongue over the bitten lip, lapping up the small droplet of blood and sucking on his own lip, causing it to swell, a response easily matched by the increased level of painful throbbing in Danny's dick. Then, as though intent on furthering Danny's discomfort, Steve grinned evilly and took, not his own dick in his hand, but Danny's, and rubbed up and down the shaft, paying particular attention to the head, caressing it with his broad thumb. Danny stopped breathing as an electric surge shot straight through him. He nearly bit through his lower lip as he stifled a catlike mewl, his back arching up, off the cushions, his head banging into the arm of the couch. He closed his eyes.

Rachel, the few times they'd been adventurous in bed, had never elicited such a reaction from him. Her smaller, smoother hands wrapped around his hardened dick had never nearly rendered him unconscious. His own hand loosened the hold he'd had on himself as he surrendered to Steve's ministrations, allowing his partner to spread the numbing agent on his erection. His stomach tightened, the muscles clenching in anticipation.

"Here."

Steve tossed the tube on his chest, it felt cold against his sweat-glossed chest, and Danny was forced to open his eyes. He glared at Steve and grabbed the tube. Unscrewing the cap, he tossed it aside, his narrowed eyes daring Steve to say something about it, but Steve remained silent, a smug, crooked grin quirking his lips upward as if to say, 'whatever, what else you got?'

Steve was still straddling him. He was sitting up, weight resting on the balls of his feet, his hands braced on either side of Danny's face, his lips millimeters from Danny's own, blue eyes staring straight down into his, not letting him look anywhere else as Danny struggled to squeeze the lube onto his hands without the benefit of sight to guide him because Steve's face and chest were blocking his view.

"Shit," he muttered as some of the cream shot out onto his stomach and he fumbled with the now slippery tube which flew out of his grip and tumbled onto the floor. It was all Steve's fault; the man could be downright distracting when he wanted to be.

Silently cursing his impish partner, Danny scooped the lube from his stomach and blindly reached for Steve's cock, his fingers groping, tickling the pubic hairs before finding the hardened erection and clumsily applying the, in spite of his mishap, generous portion of analgesic cream to his partner's stiff hard on. He smiled to himself as Steve drew in a sharp breath, his eyes dilating in response to Danny's impromptu massage.

"Danno." Steve's voice was little more than an undertone, the name leaving his lips more like a prayer than anything else.

"Oh god," he moaned as Danny finished massaging lube in and, unable to resist the temptation, playfully tweaked his balls before rubbing his thumb along the tip of the penis.

Danny knew how to get himself off. The process usually involved picturing busty women found in smutty magazines, their breasts heaving, thighs open, and full, pouting lips parted suggestively. His hand, sometimes bare, other times covered with a sock, or other friction inducing fabric, wrapped firmly around his dick, squeezing, rubbing, and pinching as he thrust and pumped over and over into his fist until he reached his climax, spilling his semen over himself in a hot rush of sightless release, and crying out like an animal.

But, with his hand on Steve's cock, his mind was a blank; no busty women paraded themselves before his mind's eye, vying for his attentions. Instead, he focused on the brief glimpse he'd gotten of his partner's erect penis, and plied his fingers to the thick, hard member, memorizing the contour of the head, how the firm flesh seemed to vibrate beneath his fingers and how, when he scraped his thumbnail along the tip just so, Steve's breath seemed to falter, and his back arched, how Steve's knees clenched and pressed against his hips.

"Danno, keep that up and I'm gonna," Steve said, panting, "fuck," he hissed as Danny did something that normally brought him to orgasm when he was masturbating, twisting his hand around Steve's dick, his thumb just beneath the rim of the head.

"Fuck," Steve repeated, moving one of his hands back to Danny's erection. He wasted no time in wrapping his hand around his partner's hard on and sliding it up and down the shaft. His movements were quick, but not hurried and Danny stared up at Steve, holding his gaze as they both stroked, petting each other.

"Can I?" Steve asked, his eyes imploring, articulating what his voice could not.

Danny, after a moment's pause, nodded and Steve lowered his mouth to his, kissing him.

"Danno, you're gonna have to," he said, each word punctuated with a lingering kiss, "let go."

Blushing, Danny freed Steve's erection and placed his now empty hands on Steve's shoulders as his partner, guided by some primal instinct, removed his hands from Danny's dick and, without breaking their kiss, gripped his hips, hoisting them upward. Danny had heard stories traded by cops about male on male sex, but had never joined in the gossip. He hadn't really given much thought to what the male prostitutes he'd brought in off the street did for a living.

The anticipation of what was about to happen scared him, and yet, he was excited. This was Steve, not some stranger he'd met on the street. This was his partner, someone he trusted with his life. The man he knew had his back no matter what. The man he knew would take a bullet for him, no questions asked.

His stomach clenched and he almost lost his nerve when Steve's thumbs once more parted his ass cheeks, but, he focused on kissing Steve, on making his body as relaxed, his muscles as loose, as possible. He trusted Steve.

Steve broke their kiss, resting his forehead against Danny's, looking into his eyes, he searched for something, maybe permission, and Danny's heart stuttered and started, beating rapidly as it finally hit him what it was that he and Steve were about to do. This was not some random, one night stand. Not some experimental trip on the dark side.

He and Steve were about to make love. This wasn't horny, hormone or lust-driven sex. Floored by this epiphany, Danny blinked up at Steve and gripped his shoulders tightly, raising his lips to lightly brush them against his partner's, he communicated his trust.

"Danno, are you sure?" Steve asked hesitantly and Danny nodded.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Danny said after clearing his throat.

"Shit," Steve said, suddenly breaking away, a look of frustration and embarrassment on his face.

"What? What is it?" Danny asked, sitting up slightly.

"The lube, you dropped it. I need it to," Steve said, running his hands through his hair, "you know, to…" he trailed off, eyes darting toward Danny's ass.

"Well, if you hadn't been such a distraction, I wouldn't have dropped it," Danny countered.

They were both leaning halfway off the couch, hands blindly searching along the floor, near the edge of the couch for the fallen tube.

"Yeah, well," Steve said, "you were pretty distracting yourself."

"Sure, super commando," Danny replied drily. He was groping the carpet, intent upon finding the tube first.

"Got it!" Steve declared. The goofy smile on his face caused Danny to roll his eyes.

"Good, now, maybe we can get on with this," Danny said, belying the nervousness he felt.

"I," Steve lowered his eyes, "I've never done this before," he admitted.

"Me either," Danny said, smiling.

"I don't want to hurt you," Steve said, his voice was strained with worry and what Danny recognized as yearning.

The man was close to bursting and he was holding out to make sure that Danny was comfortable. This, more than anything else, sealed things for Danny.

"Steve, I know you're gonna do your best to make this pleasurable for the both of us, now, stop stalling and get on with it," Danny said with exasperation.

The more time that was being wasted in making sure that he was comfortable was causing him to tense up and fear what was going to happen. He wasn't foolish, he knew that no matter what Steve did to minimize the pain, it was still going to hurt. Lying there, with Steve positioned over him, thumbs prying his butt cheeks apart, Danny couldn't think about anything else.

"If you're sure," Steve said one last time and Danny nodded, watching with only a small measure of trepidation as Steve squeezed some of the lube out onto his fingertips.

Steve, with one last look at him, pressed his lips to his and Danny raised his hips up, his legs nearly straddling Steve. Danny concentrated on the kiss, on the sensation of his dick rubbing against Steve's stomach, on anything other than what Steve was about to do.

He felt Steve's fingers, slick with lube pushing against his anus, hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence as his partner breached him with a finger and his only reaction was a drawn in breath. Danny allowed his mouth to trail along Steve's chin, savoring the briny flavor of his partner's sweat and the rough, almost sandpapery feel of the stubble against his tongue.

He continued to explore Steve's upper body with his tongue as Steve inserted a second finger, twisting and turning his fingers to spread the numbing lube into his anus. So far, other than being slightly awkward, there wasn't much pain. It was just an uncomfortable pressure that made the muscles of his buttocks clench in an attempt to expel the intruding fingers.

"How you doing Danno?" Steve asked. His fingers were knuckle deep in Danny's ass.

Danny took a deep breath before responding, "Okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Danny answered gruffly.

His eyes were fixed on Steve's right nipple, wondering what it would be like to suck it, what it would do to Steve if he nipped and twisted it. He closed his eyes, fingers digging painfully into Steve's shoulders as his partner's fingers pushed in past the knuckles and the pressure built. He pressed his head into the crook of Steve's neck, rubbing his erection between their bodies as his own need built up.

Steve inserted a third finger, twisting the trio of fingers to further spread the lube and loosen Danny's constricting muscles. It was starting to become a little more than just uncomfortable, but Danny bit down on his lower lip, held his breath until the sensation that something was wrong passed and he was able to breathe again.

Danny loosened his iron-like grip on Steve's shoulders a little and he panted through the mounting pressure and the uneasy feeling that was in the pit of his stomach as he thought about Steve penetrating him.

"Relax Danno," Steve said, his voice soft and gentle.

"I am," Danny retorted hotly, "you relax."

His anus felt like it was burning and he was having a hard time focusing on anything other than Steve's fingers up his ass, stretching him, and just how tight he felt. He wasn't sure he wanted to do this anymore, was wondering when things would get better and momentarily terrified that they wouldn't, that the entire experience would be a complete and utter letdown after everything which had led up to it. Or that maybe things would only get worse.

"You want me to stop?" Steve asked, pausing mid twist and Danny had to bite his tongue.

_Yes, yes, yes,_ he thought, but shook his head 'no'. Uncertainty aside, Danny wanted this. He'd built a relationship of mutual respect and trust with Steve, everything that most couples skipped to get to this stage, which was the next, logical progression in their relationship, such as it was.

And, whether or not it was the best thing that had ever happened to him, or something that he would simply endure, things had come too far to back out now.

"No, don't stop," he managed to utter.

"You sure, 'cause I can stop," Steve promised. "Is it uncomfortable? Are you in pain? Just tell me what you want to do, and I'll do it."

"Steven, just shut up and make love to me," Danny ground out, a little surprised at his choice of words, he'd meant to say, fuck me, hadn't wanted to come off as girly and needy. "I'm afraid that, at this rate, I'm going to be coming before you," he said impatiently.

"But," Steve hesitated and Danny grabbed the man's dick, pulling on it until his partner gasped in pain.

"The fuck, Danno?" he questioned and Danny gave him a pointed look.

"If you don't get a move on, I'm going to take matters into my own hands," Danny threatened, thumbing the head of Steve's erection to give proof to his claim.

"Fine," Steve sulked, "I was just trying to make sure you really wanted this."

"Look, I don't know if I really want this." Danny's hand was back on Steve's shoulder, his words punctuated by the tightening and loosening of his fingers digging into his partner's flesh. "It's downright uncomfortable and I'm not sure what it's supposed to feel like," Danny confessed, "but, I don't think you're doing anything wrong and, god, Steve, I just, I just need you to move, not stop, just, you know the twisting kind of felt okay."

Steve twisted his fingers and pushed them in further, watching Danny warily, looking for any sign of discomfort on his friend's face as he continued his ministrations.

"Steve," Danny said, waiting until the man looked at him, "don't worry, what you're doing is fine." His face contorted a little when Steve's fingers stilled and he cupped the side of his partner's face with the palm of his hand, caressing it.

"Just keep going Steve," he urged.

"Okay." Steve nodded, kissing the palm of Danny's hand as he rotated the fingers he had inside of his partner, wriggling them as he sought to further spread the numbing lubricant.

Danny opened his mouth to encourage his partner when Steve's fingers suddenly brushed against something that he'd grown up believing that only his doctor should touch, and that, clinically. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, he threw his head back and thrust upward, pushing up against Steve's fingers. All prior discomfort was forgotten as he silently begged Steve to continue.

"Danno, you okay there?" Steve's voice was filled with worry as he misread the look on Danny's face.

"More than okay, but if you ask me one more time if I'm okay, I'm going to hit you," Danny warned. He was trying to get his breathing under control and was disappointed when Steve pulled his fingers free. "Steve, I swear to god, so help me…"

Danny's outburst was cut off by a heated kiss, one that took as much as it gave, punishing, bruising, plundering. It left him feeling off-balance when Steve's mouth moved from his and he latched onto his partner's throat, nipping and sucking the sweat-drenched skin, leaving a purpling bruise behind as he kissed his way from Steve's throat to his right nipple, tugging at it with his teeth, teasing it erect.

Steve moaned and writhed, his back arching as Danny's tongue traced his nipple.

"Ready?" Steve asked, and Danny could sense that he was still a little unsure.

"Yeah babe, I'm ready," he assured him.

His words came out muffled as his lips were still pressed to the heated skin surrounding Steve's nipple, his tongue still swathing and tasting it, relishing in the goose bumps surrounding the hardened nub. Danny felt Steve's hands at his hips and pulled his feet from the depths of the cushions, wrapping his legs around his partner's waist, giving the both of them better leverage.

The breath whooshed out of Danny's lungs and he bit, hard, into Steve's nipple, drawing blood when Steve penetrated him. He stifled a cry of pain, concentrating on breathing through it.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, are you okay?" Steve asked and Danny nodded, unable to trust his voice not to give away just how much it hurt.

He was suddenly extremely grateful for the numbing agent in the lube Steve had applied. Danny didn't even want to imagine how much worse it might have hurt had Steve not thought to prep him.

"You sure?" Steve asked again.

"Yes," Danny hissed between clenched teeth. "Just move, or something." He vaguely gestured with his hand and momentarily regretted the command when the burning sensation increased tenfold. He squirmed, trying to find a way to ease the discomfort.

"Uhn," he grunted as Steve pushed into him. His hands gripped Steve's shoulders tightly as Steve thrust further into him.

He was waiting for things to feel good, for the head of Steve's dick to press against his prostate as his fingers had done, and for Steve to _fucking move_ already so that he didn't feel like a fucking virgin whose cherry was being tapped for the first time.

"Steven, you've gotta move faster," he said, guiding his partner by placing his hands on the man's hips and thrusting his own hips upward.

"Okay."

Danny heard the misgiving in Steve's voice and he inwardly groaned.

"Look babe, I'm not made of porcelain. I ain't some fairy princess or a naïve little girl who's never seen a man's fully erect penis outside of a textbook before. I'm not going to break, or shatter into a million pieces. Steven, your fucking dick is up my ass, it burns like hell. I need you to go a little, hell, _a lot_ faster, you're killing me here," Danny directed.

"You're sure?" Steve hesitated and Danny, unable to reach anything else at the moment, slapped him on the bare ass, hard enough to sting.

Steve pulled out a little before thrusting himself all the way in, his balls smacking noisily against Danny's ass cheeks. Danny bit down on his tongue and tasted copper and rust; he locked his jaw, fingers burrowing into Steve's hips as a brief, yet fiery pain swept through him.

His own erection was completely forgotten as he struggled to adjust to having a rather significant portion of Steve inside of him. And then, as Steve began to move, finally complying with his wishes, Danny was left with little more recourse than to hang on and, once Steve's hardened member brushed against his prostate, enjoy the ride.

All pain was forgotten when Steve hit that spot again and again, seemingly timing his thrusts with Danny's wordless, grunted responses. Danny's hands moved from Steve's hips, to his back, rubbing up and down his spine as they both lost themselves in the simple, uncomplicated act of lovemaking.

Danny bucked and thrust his hips up when Steve pushed down, his dick impaling Danny over and over. Together, they created a steadily increasing rhythm, Danny finally understanding why men enjoyed anal sex. Rachel had once mentioned the idea to him, but he'd balked at it, finding the idea repulsive at the time, but now, with Steve deep inside of him, his dick pressing against his prostate, he got it.

He could barely breathe, stars peppered his vision and he could feel his eyeballs rolling to the back of his head when Steve's pace increased and he felt the man stiffen before he cried out throatily and Danny felt hot, sticky cum spill inside of him as Steve rode out his orgasm and came, collapsing, panting on top of him and pulling out with a strangely loud slurping sound that seemed anticlimactic to Danny who was still trying to catch his breath.

Danny knew that, later, after the analgesic had fully worn off, he'd be sore, but, right now, he couldn't bring himself to care. That had been fucking awesome. Once he'd adjusted to Steve's length and width, his body accommodating the thickness of his partner and once Steve had begun to move inside of him, it had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. The pleasure, mixed with pain acting as a powerful aphrodisiac, arousing him and intensifying his own experience.

"God, that was," Steve raised his eyes to Danny's, his hands suddenly grasping Danny's cheeks as he kissed him fully on the lips and then pulled back, "that was beautiful and, and…" Steve's brows furrowed and he reached a hand between them, clumsily fingering Danny's stiff erection. "And you still need to cum," he commented, leering.

"Fuck you," Danny responded petulantly.

"Maybe another time," Steve responded seriously and Danny swallowed the sudden lump that had formed in his throat.

Steve wrapped his hand around Danny's dick and slowly stroked it, squeezing gently and rubbing the tip, rolling the ball sacs between his fingers. Unable, and at this point, unwilling to constrain himself, he pumped into Steve's fist, grinding against his partner, grunting and moaning, howling as he came, spilling his seed all over himself and Steve, coating their bellies in the tacky substance and not caring.

Steve's lips brushed against his and Danny sighed as his partner shifted so that Danny was no longer trapped beneath him. He liked how Steve's body fit with his - their legs, entangled and sticky in the aftereffects of sex; his head nestled atop Steve's chest where he could hear his steady heartbeat and feel it against his cheek; and their hands clasped tightly together, fingers interlaced, Steve running the fingers of his free hand though his hair, Danny absentmindedly rubbing Steve's thigh with his thumb.

"Love you Danno," Steve whispered thickly.

"I know," Danny replied drowsily, chuckling when Steve lightly thwacked the back of his head. "Love you too," he said –all traces of joking gone from his voice.

"Sappy, girly moment over," Steve declared, his tone a tender contradiction to the brusque words.

"Amen," Danny echoed sleepily, as body, and spirit, fully sated, he gave into the compulsion to close his eyes and dream.


	21. Pure Energy

Disclaimer: See initial chapter.

A/N: Completely forgot that I had written this chapter...hope that you find it enjoyable.

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><p>"What's on Your Mind (Pure Energy)" by Information Society<p>

Danny was a bundle of pure energy. He was constantly in motion, even while asleep, which Steve shortly found out when Danny's elbow struck him in the gut as he turned in his sleep, his back arching slightly as he repositioned himself so that he was wedged snugly between Steve and the couch. The soft sigh of contentment that accompanied Danny's movement made Steve smile. He ran his fingers through Danny's hair, marveling at what had happened between them. It had been nothing short of a miracle. Albeit, one orchestrated by a meddlesome young rookie.

The couch afforded very little room for the both of them and Steve groaned as Danny, still soundly asleep, moved once more and his groin was suddenly being groped by his partner's hand. Steve stifled a chuckle at the look of confusion that marred Danny's face when his fingers twitched and brushed his penis, causing it to stir slightly.


	22. Good

Disclaimer: See initial chapter

A/N: Kind of forgot I wrote this as a sort of wrap-up...the game mentioned here is referencing an actual game.

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><p>"Good" by Better than Ezra<p>

"You know what this means, don't you?" Danny asked Steve the next day.

They'd both showered and had a good, leisurely breakfast and spent the day just enjoying each others company, basking in the mid-morning sun before watching the Hawaii State University Warriors cream the Colorado Buffaloes thirty-four to seventeen during the first season of the game.

Steve turned toward him, a puzzled frown on his face as he looked at his partner.

"No, what?" he asked.

"We're gonna have to send Kono some flowers," Danny said, smirking.

Steve shook his head and leaned over to kiss Danny, lips lingering on the detective's a little longer than strictly necessary for what, compared to the night before, was a chaste buss on the lips.

"Yeah, guess we do owe her some thanks," he conceded.


	23. Not Sure

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter

**A/N**: not entirely sure why, but see below -

Inspired by: "Party Rock Anthem" and "I'm in Miami Trick"- LMFAO; and, to be perfectly honest, a couple of shots of Patron.

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><p>They're both kind of drunk the second time it happens and Danny finds himself camped out on Steve's couch – TV a dull roar of static. The aftermath of sex – sweat, cum and something unidentifiable.<p>

Danny can't even feel his lips, or maybe it's just the alcohol, maybe. They really feel like they're on fire, though, electrified – tingly. And isn't that a girly thing? Fuck. Maybe he shouldn't have had that last shot.

He feels a little unbalanced, and Steve's there, his lips pressed against his, hot and greedy. Narrow hips grounding him to the couch cushions – giving him perspective – fucked into oblivion.

Lips, tongue, teeth and need. Stripped, bare-assed, naked and fucking vulnerable. Everything he doesn't want to be since Rachel, and everything he desires, fuck, everything he doesn't know he needs.


	24. The Anthem, or Jealousy

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

Inspired by, "The Anthem," by Pitbull featuring Lil' Jon

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><p>Steve looks over at Danny, musters a smile. His heart is hammering in his chest and he feels too hot for his skin, like he might burst into flames.<p>

A woman walks up to Danny, places her hand on his chest, leans in, and, as Steve watches from across the bar, the two of them smile and laugh. Danny's leaning in, his hand on the woman's lower back, the other holding a drink. He's got a wide smile on his face and Steve's hand tightens on his own drink.

His heart's hammering and his tee-shirt feels too tight. He can't breathe and he can't leave the bar, can't leave his partner without backup, but can't stand watching the man flirt with every dark-haired woman who crosses his path either. It doesn't help knowing that Danny's just doing his job. That the detective is trying to catch a wily thief in the guise of a lovely lady out for drinks.

Danny's the bait, Steve's the backup, and fuck, he can't sit by and watch as his partner's groped by every damn woman in the place. They're practically falling over themselves for a chance to touch him, or at least that's what it looks like from where Steve's sitting, cock hard, eyes cold and deadly as he watches, bides his time, hoping that they'll have their woman soon so that he won't have to spend one more night watching and never touching.

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><p>Whatch'a think?<p> 


	25. Jambi

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

**A/N**: Inspired by Tool's,"Jambi". A continuation of the previous scene. The undercover operation is not over just yet.

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><p>Steve's a caged tiger, sitting in the back of the bar. Only his eyes move as he watches Danny entertain a multitude of women. All of them long-legged, lithe creatures.<p>

_Predators_, Steve thinks, _the lot of them._

His muscles are coiled and strung taut, ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.

To the stranger's eye, he looks cool and calm, his exterior betraying none of his inner turmoil. If Chin, Kono or Danny had been looking in his direction, however, they'd have noticed that he was seething mad, filled with anger ready to boil over.

Steve knew that Danny was the perfect one to put undercover for this operation. The perfect 'fly' to catch their lady 'spider'.

But, now he's angry. Angry at Danny. Angry at the women who're fawning over his partner like the compact, muscular man is the next best thing since fucking sliced bread. And Steve will be damned if they get the opportunity to find out that, yes, actually, he is.

_Is Danny's hand on that tramp's thigh?_ Steve narrows his eyes down to slits, looking even more like a tiger ready to attack its prey.

_No, way is Danny locking lips with that slutty brunette_, Steve thinks, even as his partner's hands slide up beneath her skirt and Danny's fingers brush along the outer edge of the woman's white, laced panties.

Just as Steve begins to think that the kiss is never going to end and he's contemplating launching himself over the table so that he can drag his partner away from that woman and out of the bar, Danny pulls away from the kiss. The less than satisfied look that Steve can see on the detective's face is enough to keep Steve from blowing his partner's cover and carting him home over his shoulders like the Neanderthal Danny's always accusing him of being.

_When we get home tonight Danny boy,_ Steve thinks, his eyes glinting in the dark as the woman pulls Danny in for another kiss, m_ark my words_, _I'll erase every touch, every mark that these women have left on you and leave marks of my own._

It doesn't even strike Steve that what he's feeling is jealousy and that he's behaving like a complete ass.

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><p>Reviews are golden.<p> 


	26. Fire

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter

**A/N**: Written for dailyfics over at livejournal, prompt was Fire.

Summary: Danny's undercover at a bar, trying to catch a femme fatale. Steve's more than just a little jealous of the many women who seem to want his partner, and Danny's a tease. Inspired by the song, "Fire," by the Pointer Sisters.

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><p>The low light of the bar, and the distance between them was unable to mask the smoldering fire that was simmering just beneath the surface of the Steve's hazel eyes. Danny could see jealousy's flames flickering golden and it sparked something primeval within him.<p>

Steve's muscles were stretched tight as violin strings and Danny wondered that they didn't snap from the coiled tension that rolled off the man in palpable waves. Danny swelled with pride, a part of him childishly excited that he'd brought out these feelings of jealousy in the other man, that Steve wanted him at the exclusion of all others.

And from the primitive, caveman look that Danny could see gleaming in Steve's eyes, even from this distance – like man's discovery of fire, hot and burning, scintillating – Danny knew that Steve was more than just a little envious of the copious female attention he was receiving. Foolishly, it made him want to tease and tantalize his 'mate' further just to see if he could invoke the green-eyed monster's baser instincts within the normally unflappable man.

The part of him that did not lack common sense understood the underlying danger in this – a snake charmer playing the flute to make a king cobra dance and undulate, not to the tune the flute played, but the movement of the flautist's hands. If the flautist miscalculated, the snake could strike and kill.

He understood the fire in Steve's eyes for what it was, and knew, instinctively, that it would not be wise to ignite it even further, but Danny had thrown common sense out the window when he met Steve. He delighted in the thought of making the other man dance to his tune and wondered, with a thrill, what Steve's 'bite' would feel like when he struck.

So, instead of pushing the leggy brunette away – he knew she wasn't the woman they were looking for – he welcomed her unsolicited advances. Running his tongue along the curve of her slender neck, licking and tasting, he relished her delicate femininity, so different from Steven's rough stubble and rippling muscles. He nipped playfully at her earlobe, eliciting a soft moan from the woman not entirely unlike Steve's when Danny was rutting against him.

Fingering her lace panties with one hand, he rubbed calloused fingers along the outer edge of her thigh, igniting goose bumps along her skin, which was otherwise smooth as silk. She arched into his touch, and moved in for a kiss. Her long hair brushed against his cheeks, tickling him.

The cloying flavors of strawberries and vanilla exploded on Danny's tongue and he found himself yearning for the taste of his partner – a mixture of sea salt and something entirely undefinable, which was exclusively Steven.

All the while, Danny kept a close eye on his partner. He reveled in the way Steve's eyes darkened to an almost black and the look of absolute hatred his partner was casting at the woman Danny had kissed. He was pleased with the possessiveness his actions had kindled in Steve, the way the man's eyes were trained on him like iron filings drawn to a magnet.

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><p>Reviews are like "...sweet kisses are fire..." greatly desired.<p> 


	27. Glory Days

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter.

**A/N: **Inspired by, "Glory Days," by Bruce Springsteen; not sure how exactly this worked, but it did.

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><p>The atmosphere in the bar changes, and Steve's instantly on alert. This time his laser-like attention on Danny has everything to do with the job and nothing to do with the jealousy pulsing through his veins as his partner kisses the brunette who has one hand on his thigh and another on his chest, up underneath his shirt. They make a cute, if overly demonstrative, couple, and have captured the eyes of the other patrons in the bar.<p>

Steve's focus is divided. He keeps one eye on his partner who has yet to come up for air - _fuck, I didn't know Danny could do that with his tongue; there's gotta be some kind of law against such an open display of debauchery_ - and the other on a brunette who's sitting at the other end of the counter from Danny and the long-legged bimbo he's making out with.

Her eyes are on Danny, and she's got an open cell phone in her hand. It's trained on the couple, and Steve would bet dollars to donuts that she's recording his partner and the tramp whose hand is now down his pants.

Steve isn't fooled by the smile on the woman's face, as though she's enjoying what she's seeing as much as the others at the bar appear to be. And really, at this point someone should be telling them to get a room already, what with the way the floozy is glomming herself onto Danny, and the way he's sucking on her earlobe and then his tongue is trailing down her throat, and he's sucking, marking her bare collarbone with a hickey that should, by all rights, be his.

'Boss,' Kono's voice startles him, and, momentarily disoriented, he looks around for her, only to realize that she's spoken to him over the earpiece he's wearing.

'Status report,' she says, and he curses, because the brunette with the cellphone is gone, and he's got nothing to report other than the fact that Danny is apparently a better kisser than he's been letting on and he feels gypped.

"I think I saw someone who fits her profile," he says, "but I lost her. I think she was filming Danny." He doesn't add: _and the slut whose tongue is now down his throat._


	28. Got to Have It

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N**: Inspired by, "Lakini's Juice" - Live; cottoncandy_bingo square: caressing/petting/stroking.

Reviews would be awesome.

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><p>The woman, Jenny or Julie or some variation of a plain name that starts with the letter J, is leading him to the dance floor. Danny doesn't dance, but he wants more, more of this. More of catching glimpses of Steve hot and bothered, practically splitting at the seams in his possessive jealousy.<p>

And now he's no longer just playing with the fire, he's baiting it – fanning the flames, fueling it with meaningful glances and stolen kisses, licking a stripe along Jackie's, Jessica's, Joslyn's neck and cupping her ass. He's coaxing the fire into a blazing inferno. Beckoning the hounds of hell to come and get him. Charming the devil into have his wicked, wicked way with him.

He likes having Jasmine's, Jade's, Josie's, tongue in his ear – wet and inquisitive – and her nylon-clad foot inching its way up his thigh. An unsubtle hint as to what will happen when he uses the cardkey that she slid into his pocket – slender fingers wriggling suggestively, and lingering a little longer than is strictly necessary.

Danny knows that Jamie, June, Judy, isn't their target; he's pretty sure it was the woman he'd seen his partner hone in on seconds before Jean, Johanna, Jarly, pulled him out onto the dance floor. He knows that Steve was torn – wanting to have his partner's back and yet envious of the dark-haired beauties Danny had paid attention to throughout the night. He knows that Steve is itching to leave now that the person he suspects is their thief has left. He knows that this – going undercover with Steve, again – is out of the question. It's too dangerous, for all of them.

Steve can't keep his eyes off of him, and Danny's horny as a fucking teenager.

Their op is over, the night is young, and Janet, Jill, Juliette, is rubbing her body up against his, and fuck, he hasn't felt a woman's touch in a long, long time. Her hands can't seem to find a suitable place to settle, and Danny doesn't really mind. It's nice to have a woman's hands on his body – touching, caressing, and not pawing at him like Steve's. They're delicate and girly and nice.

They were nothing like Steve's hands – large, broad and always sure of themselves.

Slender fingers, feather light touches on his skin, leave goose bumps in their wake, and Danny wonders what it would be like to have those fingers where only Steve's have been. He thinks of following Julianne, Josephine, Jezebel, to her hotel room and fucking while Steve watches them from the shadows, palming himself through his clothes and biting down on his tongue to muffle his cries as he sneaks his hands beneath the band of his jeans and strokes himself to the show Danny and Jay, Jan, Jen, are making of sex.

Danny will hold off, waiting for Steve to lose control – hips gyrating, dick slip-sliding in and out of his hands until he comes and slides down the wall to land in quivering heap on his ass, still riding out his orgasm, eyes dark and hard as he watches Danny finish inside of Jo-Jo, Jacqueline, Jess.


	29. No Diggity

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Written with mirs13 in mind. Thanks for the encouragement to write. This one's a bit different. It was inspired by the song, "No Diggity," by Blackstreet, but then it kind of got away from me. The hc_bingo prompt - nervous breakdown was also inspirational for this installment. I hope that this chapter, different though it be, works.

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><p>He's hurt and disappointed. Steve wants to walk away, leave Danny to the pretty little number who's draped all over him – no shame in what she's doing, her hands, her eyes, making love to Danny on the dance floor. Her hands are in a place on Danny's body that they have no business being. A place where only Steve's hands belong.<p>

Another idea comes to mind, and Steve smiles to himself as he makes his way toward Danny. His eyes never leave Danny's, even as he stops every now and again to dance with someone. He likes the way Danny's eyes flash with jealousy when his fingers brush lightly against a woman's breast.

Steve moves in, directly behind Danny. Sandwiches Danny between himself and the woman that he's been teasing him with all night long. He gets as close to Danny as he can, given that they're both fully clothed, and in public. It isn't nearly as close as he'd like to get with Danny – skin tight, deep inside, wringing mewls and screams of pleasure from him, and when he's done, making Danny beg for more.

Judging by the hitch in Danny's breath and the way the man stiffens a little and then moans, and pushes back into him, Steve knows that Danny can feel his erection against his jeans clad ass. It's a turn on. He bites his bottom lip and moves to the beat of the music, bumping and grinding into Danny's ass.

The girl's watching them; the pupils of her eyes are blown wide. Her hands are on Danny's hips, his ass, and she's pressing her body up against his – her breasts are practically bouncing in Danny's face. It's clear to Steve that this is a game to her, one in which Danny's the coveted prize.

There's a part of Steve that wants to concede the game to her, just to see what Danny will do. If Danny will take the bait and be a willing pawn in this power struggle taking place on the dance floor, or if he'll choose Steve over the bountiful brunette.

"Fuck," Danny groans.

He tilts his head back, wraps an arm around the back of Steve's neck. His lips fasten onto Steve's throat in a bruising kiss that's reminds Steve of the time a leech latched itself onto his leg – it was a son-of-a-bitch to get off.

"You trying to kill me?" Danny's voice is low, almost a growl.

"You started it," Steve whispers, and he delights in the way that Danny shivers – his whole body quivering – in response. "Question is, are you man enough to finish what you started, Danno?"

Danny swallows, Steve watches his lover's Adam's apple bob with the movement, and he knows that he's got Danny right where he wants him. The man looks half-stoned and that's when it hits him that maybe Danny _has _been drugged.

"I just gave him a little something to loosen him up a bit," the woman says when Steve shoots her a questioning look. "He was so stiff; I wanted him to have a good time. It isn't enough to make him pass out or anything, just enough to lower his inhibitions, make him a little more…suggestible. Maybe we can all go back to my hotel and…"

Steve cuts her off with a growl, and taps his earpiece, barks an order to Chin and Kono and then steers Danny away from the dance floor as the woman's arrested. She might not be the thief they're looking for, but the fact that she's drugged Danny is enough for them to make an arrest.

Steve wonders how many men she's done this too, and how she'd managed to slip a small dose of something similar to Rohypnol, into Danny's soda without any of them noticing. Of course, he'd been distracted, his attention on Danny, rather than the woman who'd been seducing him.

"C'mon Danno, let's get you home."

"But I wanna dance," Danny says, his words come out a little slurred.

Now that Steve's looking at Danny with something other than anger and jealousy, he can see the evidence of the drugs. Danny's eyes are bloodshot, and a little unfocused. He's leaning heavily against Steve, as though unable to support himself, and Steve knows that the drug that Danny was given was tailored to loosen him up, as the woman who'd dosed him with it had explained. The drug had acted as a catalyst, lowering Danny's inhibitions just enough so that he could be honest with himself.

The demonstrative display of affection that Steve had been subjected to wasn't entirely Danny's fault, but they'd still have to talk about whatever reservations, if any, Danny still has about the two of them being together, exclusively. That's something that Steve wants to make clear – that, if he and Danny are going to continue sleeping together, that he's a one man kind of guy, and he wants, no, needs, the same commitment from Danny.

"We can dance back at my place," Steve promises, steering Danny toward the exit. "But, first we need to take a little detour to the hospital to get you checked out, make sure that there won't be any more nasty little side effects to the drug."

"Drug?"

The ride to the hospital isn't pleasant, and it's all Steve can do to remain patient with Danny who keeps asking why they're going to the hospital and can't seem to remember Steve's answer from one second to the next. Steve feels like he's having some kind of mental breakdown, and he's relieved when they finally arrive and Danny's wheeled off to an exam room.

By the time the doctor's ready to release Danny (a little after six in the morning), Steve's beyond exhausted. He's told what he can expect to see over the next ten plus hours and given instructions on how to handle what might arise.

The drive back to his place is silent, save for Danny's quiet little snores, and when he pulls into his driveway, he sits there for a few minutes, staring out of his windshield. The sound of Danny shifting in his seat and snorting, breaks him from his reverie – a memory of his father putting his mother to bed after she'd had too much to drink one night – and he shakes himself.

Danny might be smaller than him, but he isn't light – he's compact and all muscle. Even so, Steve manages to carry Danny from the truck and into the house. He's tempted to dump Danny on the couch and let him sleep off the drug there, but he doesn't. His muscles are aching and he's ready to collapse by the time he's gotten Danny into the bedroom.

He strips Danny out of his clothes, dresses him in a pair of sweats which are far too long and baggy on him and a tee-shirt which is loose-fitting, and gets him tucked into bed. Danny remains asleep throughout all of it, lightly snoring the entire time, and Steve marvels at that, though he's seen something similar with Grace when Danny's gotten her ready for bed after she's fallen asleep on the couch.

He stands there, wavering on his feet a little, staring down at Danny. The man's hair is unkempt, there's a five o'clock shadow already gracing his chin, and it hits Steve right, in the gut, that he's hopelessly, madly in love.

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><p>Reviews are my impetus for writing.<p> 


	30. Hello - I Love You

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Again, these drabble-type chapters aren't meant to be read seamlessly, but are more like captured moments of time, though this particular chapter does relate to events mentioned in the previous chapter. Additionally, I am working on not being obsessed with being perfect with regard to grammar and punctuation. If it's good enough for the professionals to have errors in their published works, I'm okay with the occasional error, or more, in my own. I hope this will not cause you to think any less of me, and that it will not detract from your enjoyment of the piece.

Inspired by Lionel Richie's Song, "Hello," which I heard Peter Griffin singing in an episode of, "Family Guy" (the epic - Stewie Kills Lois double ep) tonight. I then found a YouTube version where Lionel Richie was singing the song (as it should be).

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><p>Steve's eyes dance over Danny's body – drinking in the prone, motionless form of the man he's been sharing a bed with for the past couple of months. Naked beneath the sheets, back bared where the bedclothes bunch, hairy legs twined amidst the spurned blankets – the picture of perfection.<p>

Danny's sleeping. Face lax, no sign of dreams – good or bad. Steve traces a long, jagged scar that stretches along the expanse of Danny's side – from shoulder blade to hip – with an index finger. It's an old scar. One Steve has seen, but never, before now, dared to touch.

Emboldened by his recent self-revelation, the realization that he loves Danny and is willing to admit it, Steve presses a kiss to the juncture where the scar meets the edge of Danny's hip. The skin is sleep-warm and briny from cooled night sweat. Steve licks the transferred salt from his lips, and then he's marking a path along the scar with feather-light kisses.

Danny moans, wriggles and somehow winds up twisting a little more of the sheets around his waist. Steve holds his breath and waits. Lips pursed, suspended just over the silvered line of the scar, above Danny's fourth and fifth ribs. When Danny stills, body relaxing once more into a peaceful sleep, Steve resumes his careful mapping of the scar that Danny refuses to talk about.

Steve's tongue darts out, and he licks the silver-white line permanently gouged into Danny's flesh. His fingers dig into the sheets, twisted and pooled around Danny's hips. The words, "I love you," are a strangled-sounding, completely unbidden, admission that spill from Steve's lips when he reaches the scar's end at the sharp edge of Danny's shoulder blade.

His heart lurches in his chest and Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from waking Danny. Letting out a shaky breath, Steve rests his forehead against Danny's shoulder, draws strength and warmth from his partner-lover-friend-soul mate.

"I love you," he says the words again, whispers them to Danny's back, to that damnable scar. Wishes that Danny would love him too, that his partner wouldn't have sought out the loving touch of another – drugged and undercover or not. Steve's got those images of Danny, making out with that woman at the bar, etched into the deepest recesses of his mind: hands sliding up the inside of Danny's thigh; fingers brushing the outline of his cock; lips pressed to lips; tongues engaging in a heated battle for dominance.

And, all he wants to do right now, is make love to the bastard. Show Danny what it means to love and to be loved by a man. By him.

Steve's never wanted something this bad. Never loved, not like this.

"I love you," he mutters, his lips brushing against that ugly scar.

"I love you." The words can't be stopped. They have a will of their own.

"I," Steve places a kiss at the small of Danny's back, "love," a kiss atop his bare ass, "you," a kiss behind Danny's bum knee.

"Mhm…" Danny moans and shifts in his sleep, scratches at his ass, and turns slightly, unsettling Steve. Steve tries to move so that he's not sprawled across Danny's back like some wayward starfish trapped ashore, but Danny catches Steve by the wrist, tugs him upward, toward his chest and then wraps an arm around him.

Trapped, Steve can feel Danny's breath, hot against his ear. The sleep-mumbled, "I love you, Steven," gives him chicken skin.

Smiling, Steve whispers, "Love you, too, Danno."

Steve settles, allows Danny's warmth to spread through him and lull him to sleep once again. There'll be time to talk, and put scars to rest, when the bright, Hawaiian sun is streaming through the blinds, bathing Danny in a golden halo of light.

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><p>As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and highly valued. Let me know if you enjoyed this?<p> 


	31. When You Wake

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

**A/N**: Varies from the other chapters, in that this was inspired by a conference held at the Hilton Hawaiian Village (where Hawaii Five-0 is sometimes filmed).

I know that many are waiting for 'the talk'. That will happen, but apparently this needed to happen first. I hope that you do not mind.

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><p>Danny wakes, head groggy, thoughts scattered. And, at first, he doesn't know where he is, how he got there. A headache takes precedence over everything else. The pounding, an incessant hammering, reverberates through his skull.<p>

His stomach roils, and, were it not for the warmth pressed across his back, he'd bolt for the bathroom. But, as it is, he can't move, and, when he opens his mouth, the only sound that comes out is a pathetic groan.

He tries to push up on his elbows, wanting to shift and move the dead weight from off his back. Even contemplating the move makes the pounding in his headache increase and his stomach clench painfully.

"Danny?" Steve's voice is an anchor in a rolling sea, and Danny grabs at it before the rope can slip away beneath the stormy surface.

"Steve?" Danny's throat feels as though it is lined with gravel, his tongue, glued to the roof of his mouth, and he wonders what the hell happened the night before.

The warm weight pinning him in place moves and Danny misses the warmth, but rallies at the freedom. Getting his arms up, under himself, is a monumental task, but he manages to do it. He propels himself to the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet just in time to expel the contents of his stomach.

Warmth presses itself against the back of his neck, and Danny is grateful for Steve's steady presence. The last time he threw up, there was no warmth, no hand at the back of his neck, no fingers gently massaging.

When his stomach stops its painful clenching, Danny rocks back on his heels and rests his forehead against the cool porcelain. It feels good, as do Steve's fingers on his neck and the press of his knees against Danny's side.

"Done?" Steve asks, after a few minutes have passed.

Danny considers the question through a fog of pain. Not trusting his voice, he nods. Like a little child, Danny allows Steve to pull him to his feet and guide him to the sink where he rinses out his mouth and drinks as much of the throat soothing liquid as he can.

"Thanks," Danny manages to coax the single syllable out of his throat as Steve maneuvers him to the bed, and arranges the bed sheets around him.

Steve sits beside him, on the edge of the bed, and places the back of his hand to Danny's forehead. Steve's frown tells Danny that something's wrong, but the pounding in his head makes it difficult for Danny to understand what exactly is bothering his partner.

"Headache?" Steve gives a tight smile when Danny nods, and then he slips from the room. He returns a short eternity later, with two white pills and a glass of water.

"This should help."

Steve sits on the edge of the bed, lifts and supports Danny's head, and places the pills on Danny's tongue. He holds the water glass for him until Danny's had his fill. The look on Steve's face is both stern and concerned.

_A look that only Steve can pull off,_ Danny thinks, even as he hopes that his stomach won't rebel to the aspirin.

Danny wants to close his eyes, and escape the persistent ache in his head, but there's something about the way that Steve is looking at him which keeps him awake. It's a look that Danny finds hard to place in his own personal lexicon of Steve's facial expressions.

When Steve leans forward and brushes his lips over his forehead, much like Danny does with Grace when she's sick with a fever, Danny swallows hard.

His heart flutters at the tender, loving gesture, and tears spring to his eyes. He bats them back as best he can, trying not to choke on them. Steve wipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb and gives Danny a goofy smile which is ruined by the crinkling of his brow.

The combination of affection and worry on Steve's face does a funny thing to Danny's stomach. He bites his bottom lip as he's flooded with an overwhelming feeling of love for Steve. A love which twists him up on the inside and makes him feel both terrified and excited at the same time.

"Sleep, we'll talk when you wake." Steve's voice is a lullaby, soft and soothing, and Danny's eyes automatically follow the directives he's been given.

His headache now a dull throb, Danny's breathing evens out as he begins to fall asleep. Memory niggles at the back of his mind, and his eyelids flutter as he attempts to wake enough to apologize to Steve for blatantly flirting in front of him.

"Shh, when you wake, Danny," Steve encourages, pressing a kiss to Danny's lips, parted in an apology.

Danny loses the fight to stay awake, slipping into sleep with Steve's lips ghosting over his and the feel of the man sneaking beneath the covers beside him.

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><p>Reviews are greatly appreciated (coveted).<p> 


	32. I'm so Into You

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

**A/N**: These two really just don't seem to want to 'talk' anytime soon. Going along with the muse. This drabble was inspired by, "I'm so Into You," by Peabo Bryson.

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><p>Steve lazily traces the lines of Danny's palm, wondering which line is linked to love, and which one maps out Danny's life expectancy. Danny's watching him with a mixture of amusement and fondness.<p>

"Palm reading, Steven?" Danny's voice is husky and low, the way it always is after they've fucked, except they haven't quite gotten around to fucking yet.

Danny's sprawled out in front of Steve, like a debauched model for an artist. He's lying on his side, head propped up on a hand, leg crooked at an angle which nicely displays Danny's cock in all its glory.

Steve doesn't answer, but presses his lips to the inside of Danny's wrist, relishing the way that his touch affects Danny – stomach muscles clenching, a shifting of legs which give him a better view of Danny's hardening cock. He wants to reach out and touch, but resists the urge. They need to talk first, and he needs to be able to think straight, not with his dick, in order for that to happen.

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><p>As always, reviews are coveted.<p> 


	33. Part-Time Lovers

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by Stevie Wonder's, "Part-Time Lover".

**Warning:** I blame all of the 'f' words on having watched, "Hemlock Grove," in a two day marathon. Possible purple prose, and horrific puns…feeling a tad poetic.

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><p>"Danny," Steve begins, and he stops, uncertainty plaguing him. He's looking at Danny's palm, wondering about the scar on Danny's back, and he has no clue how to proceed.<p>

He chickens out. "How are you feeling?"

Danny shrugs, scrunches his face up as he contemplates Steve's words. "On a scale of one to ten, with one being shitty and ten being somewhat okay…"

Steve looks at Danny and raises an eyebrow when the man merely shrugs. He's still pale, a little shaky now that Steve is paying more attention to all of Danny rather than certain key parts.

"Shitty then?" Steve guesses.

"A little below shitty on the scale," Danny admits with a grimace. "I'm thinking that it might have something to do with whatever happened the other night."

"Do you remember what happened?" Steve asks, feeling his stomach knot up with the thought that Danny might not even remember. That could complicate things.

Danny's eyes narrow and he winces as though thinking hurts him. He shakes his head, and then nods, and shakes it again. "Uh…we were working on a case? At a bar?"

He looks to Steve for verification. Swallowing, Steve nods. The knot in his stomach twists itself even tighter.

"And…" Danny's forehead scrunches up as he thinks, and then he blanches, which, given how pale he already is, causes Steve to worry.

"Oh, shit, Steven, I…" Danny closes his eyes and it looks to Steve like he's about to hurl. He's shaking a little, and when he opens his eyes, there's a suggestion of tears in them.

"Danny, what's wrong? Do you need to throw up again?" Steve starts to sit up, thinking that he might need to rush Danny to the bathroom for a repeat of what happened earlier that morning, but Danny tugs him back down.

"I threw up?" Danny asks, and then he runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth and his teeth, and he frowns. "Yuck, crap. Decades down the drain, and all for what?"

"Are you seriously worried about that stupid streak?" Steve asks, and the knot of anxiety is joined by one of anger. "Danny, you were drugged."

"Drugged?" Danny's frown deepens. "I don't remember being drugged. I remember being a world class ass, flirting with some brown-haired floozy at the bar. God, what was I thinking? Steve…I…I…"

"So, you do remember." It feels like he's been punched, and it's hard to draw in air, but, this is what he wanted – to talk.

"Yeah, I remember, and…"

"And, we need to talk," Steve cuts Danny off, knowing that, once his partner gets started with whatever it is that he wants to say, he'll be lucky to get a word in edgewise.

He _loves _Danny. Loves to hear Danny talk and talk and talk, but right now, he's got something he wants, no _needs_, to say.

Danny stiffens and he lays back, tries to cover himself up, but Steve catches the edge of the sheet, shoves it back down to the foot of the bed, and ignores the violent shiver that passes through Danny's body. He places the palm of his hand on the inside of Danny's thigh, and runs it down to the back of Danny's bum knee. Danny gives him a look that clearly says, _What the fuck? _It's defiant and childish, but goddamnit if Steve isn't turned on by it.

"The fuck?" Danny grumbles and squirms, but Steve squeezes the back of Danny's knee, and hastily averts his eyes from Danny's cock in favor of looking into the man's eyes. There's fury reflected in his partner's crystal clear blue eyes – like a lion pacing, waiting for a moment of weakness before mounting his attack.

Steve curls his other hand around the hand he'd been mapping when Danny first woke. He isn't sure why he does it, but he needs to be touching Danny for this.

Danny turns his head to the side, bites his bottom lip and then returns Steve's gaze with a look ten times more heated.

"Fuck, I suppose I deserve this," he says, and it takes Steve several seconds too long to catch onto the meaning of Danny's words. When he does, he's shaking his head, and releasing his hold on the back of Danny's knee.

Steve lays back and runs his hand down his face and takes a deep breath. Danny's watching him out of the corner of his eye, like a caged lion– defiance and fear warring with each other for dominance. Steve can't believe that Danny would think that, but he's remembering the fire that had burned and smoldered in the pit of his stomach when Danny's nose had been buried in that woman's neck, and fuck it all if he didn't want to do to Danny what the man seems to fear he will.

"No," Steve says in a low growl that only succeeds in making Danny flinch. "No, Danny, we talk first." And, even as he says the words, he knows that he's promising what Danny fears.

It doesn't make him feel good, or as though he's an avenging angel. It makes him feel sick and excited and fuck, fuck, fuck…he wants to fuck Danny until the man barely remembers who the fuck he is anymore. Until he can't even think straight, let alone talk. Until Danny doesn't remember any other woman he's ever met, let alone been with.

"I don't want to be your part-time lover, Danny," Steve says, turning on his side so that he can gauge Danny's reaction to his words. His voice is aggressive, but he can't help it. He needs Danny to understand that he isn't fucking around, that he means what he says.

Danny's eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is clenched. The hand Steve isn't holding is fisted into the fitted sheet.

"I don't want to be your fuck-buddy. I don't want to be the man you come to just to get off after a bad day. I don't want to play second fiddle to some floozy at the bar. I don't…"

Steve's list is abruptly cut short by Danny's mouth, hot and angry, on his own. His words are swallowed by Danny's tongue. And before he fully registers what's happening, Danny's on top of him, kissing a swathe down the side of his neck, sucking and biting, and Steve's going to have to wear a turtleneck to keep the cousins from teasing him and Danny tomorrow.

"I don't want to be your plaything, Danny," Steve says, wincing as the words leave his mouth, and Danny's teeth sink into his collarbone. The bite isn't overly hard, doesn't break the skin, but Steve knows that he'll be bearing Danny's mark for a week, maybe longer.

"Plaything?" Danny snorts; his hot breath tickles the hairs on Steve's chest.

Steve shivers and his dick twitches. Steve can feel Danny's grin around his nipple, and he curls his toes into the sheets bunched up at the foot of the bed. At this rate, he and Danny won't even need to have sex; he'll get off on Danny's sassy mouth alone.

"Steven, you couldn't be anyone's plaything if you wanted to. Unless, of course, what the governor says about some toy company wanting to make Five-0 action figures pans out. In that case," Danny raises his head, and his lips are quirked upward in a look which is both mischievous and devilish, "I'd buy your action figure and make him my plaything. Bend him to my every whim." Danny dips his head and playfully licks Steve's nipple, chuckling when Steve groans and jerks his hips up off the bed.

Danny's cock brushes against his, and Steve wants to strangle Danny for somehow gaining the upper hand in all of this. Even feeling lower than shitty on a scale of shit, Danny's managed to turn the tables on him.

"Steven."

Danny pauses in his apparent mission to kiss and suckle every inch of Steve, lifts himself so that his body is suspended a little above Steve's, their cocks still touching, and stares down at him. His blue eyes are awash with emotions that'd normally be spilling forth from his lips in a rushing torrent not wholly unlike a tornado or a flood.

"Do you mean it?" he asks, and Steve's not thinking clearly right now. His dick is striving to take control of the conversation, and he barely remembers what he wanted to impress upon Danny before the man started to treat him like a Popsicle on a hot summer's day.

"Of course," he answers automatically. His dick has an agenda similar to his own; it wants Danny to know how he feels about him in a very tangible, hands-on fashion.

Danny narrows his eyes and raises his hips. Steve's stomach clenches, and his dick practically weeps at the loss of Danny's touch.

"You wanted to talk," Danny says in an almost cold voice. "Talk, tell me what you meant by that list of everything you _don't _want to be."

And, even though his dick is screaming for control, what Danny's asking hits home like a ton of bricks. The assurance that Danny needs is the same assurance that he needs.

"I don't want to be your part time lover, Danny," Steve repeats. "I don't want to share you with others." He tugs at Danny's hips, but the man is stubborn and strong, and he lets his hands fall to his side. Steve hates being vulnerable, hates talking about his feelings.

"Danny, I love you," he says in a voice which betrays every emotion that he'd kept carefully hidden from everyone in his life – including Catherine.

Danny's eyes don't leave his for a second, and Steve has no trouble reading the vulnerability in them. It gives him courage to say the rest.

"I love you, and I don't want to share you anymore. I don't want you flirting with other women…or men. I don't want you fucking other women, or men, even with your eyes," Steve says, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I love you and I want you to move in, fuck, I think I want you to marry me," Steve says. The horror of the truth of his words leaves him breathless and he looks away for a second to rein in his rambling thoughts.

When he looks at Danny, he sees a myriad of emotions in the man's eyes – fear, hope, disbelief, and what Steve thinks might be love.

"You love me?" Danny asks in a small voice. His eyes search Steve's and he collapses on top of Steve when his arms buckle. "You love me?" he repeats, and then he stiffens, and his eyelashes tickle Steve's neck when he blinks.

"I don't know what to say," Danny says, breaking the heavy silence that is hanging between them. Neither one of them is thinking with their dick right now, and, truth be told, Steve feels a little nervous.

Steve chuckles, rubs his thumb along Danny's spine. "That's gotta be a first," he says.

"You, you really love me?" Danny asks the question like he really doesn't believe it, and that knot returns to Steve's stomach.

"Yes, Danny, I love you," Steve says, wondering how many times he'll have to repeat those words before Danny will believe him. Not that it's a chore to say them, but it hurts Steve to think that Danny doesn't know that he loves him.

"Really?" Danny asks, and his voice is quiet, thoughtful.

"Yes," Steve answers, wishing that the knot in his stomach would leave. "And, I meant everything else I said too," he says.

"Moving in and marriage?" Danny asks around another snort.

"Yes, Danny, the whole kit and caboodle." Steve has no idea why the hell that phrase popped into his head, and is rewarded for it with another snort and choked off laughter from Danny.

"Kit and caboodle, Steven? Seriously?" Danny asks, looking up at him. Steve is suddenly struck by how gorgeous Danny is, even with day old stubble adorning his cheeks and smelling faintly of puke and alcohol.

Steve gives his partner a cool look, and raises his chin defensively. "It's a very useful phrase," he says.

"Maybe for little girls with names like Mary or Sue, but for Army men who might have action figures made in their image…?" Danny breaks off in a fit of laughter when Steve glares at him.

"Laugh it up all you want," Steve says dryly, once Danny's laughter subsides. He feels a little put-off. God, he hopes that Danny doesn't think his declarations of love to be ramblings of foolish sentimentality. "At least my action figure will be able to kick some serious ass."

Danny's lips turn downward in a frown, and his eyes grow a darker shade of blue. "You're serious aren't you? You love me."

Steve can feel Danny's heartbeat quicken, and he can see when the truth of what he's been trying to tell Danny all along finally clicks. Danny's eyes widen slightly, his breath quickens, and he swallows thickly – his throat undulating in a manner which Steve knows is usually followed by tears.

"I think I've loved you for a while now," Steve confesses. He works a loose thread between thumb and forefinger, wondering if it's time to bid adieu to his father's sheets and buy a new set.

"Why tell me now?" Danny asks in a tone with is both accusatory and hurt.

"Because, when I watched you the other night, practically throwing yourself at that woman," Steve can't help the way his lip curls at the mention of the woman, "it was like I'd been sucker punched, and the only thing I kept thinking was the word, mine."

"Neanderthal," Danny mutters, but Steve can hear a smile in Danny's voice.

"Yeah, in more ways than one," Steve admits. "I wanted to pluck you up off of that barstool, drape you over my shoulder and cart you out of the bar and fuck your brains out."

"Did spanking feature anywhere in that little caveman scenario?" Danny asks sarcastically, though Steve thinks he detects a hint of arousal, or maybe it's he who finds the combination of spanking and Danny arousing.

"Why? That kind of thing turn you on, Danny?" Steve asks, rolling his hips suggestively.

"Uh…"

Steve loves the way that a blush forms like a sunset on Danny's body – rising from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair. He grabs Danny's ass and squeezes hard. Danny's moan is almost Steve's undoing.

"Fuck, Steven," Danny says with a groan. "So, from caveman to love? How the hell did that happen?"

Steve blinks, and bites back an invective of his own. He swats Danny's ass with the flat of his hand, and smirks when Danny's dick jerks and pokes him in the thigh.

"I was getting to that," Steve remonstrates.

"Well, you're taking too fucking long to explain how you went from, me Tarzan, you Jane, to this." Danny flaps his hand between them, and Steve can imagine how dramatically the man's arms would be flailing had they been having this conversation in less tight quarters.

"I don't know _how_ it happened," Steve says, exasperated. "I just, I was watching you sleep off the effects of the alcohol and the drug that _viper_ had slipped you, and…it was like being hit by an aircraft carrier. I couldn't breathe and I just, I just knew."

"An aircraft carrier?" Danny utters incredulously, but then he favors Steve with an impish grin.

"Yes, an aircraft carrier," Steve defends.

He smacks Danny's ass, enjoying the way that Danny's muscles tense in response, and the crisp sound of flesh striking against flesh. He's always felt a bit of a thrill attached to the violence in his life. Guns are phallic symbols of manhood, after all. His fists are an extension of his prowess.

Fuck, he's probably too far gone for any type of redemption at this point in his life– getting off on 'spanking' another man – and he's irreversibly in love with Danny. Hell is a certainty; he might as well enjoy himself along the way.

"You like that, Danny?" Steve asks. His husky voice betrays just how much he likes what he's doing, and what it's doing to Danny.

Danny's heart is beating like it's a jackrabbit; his pupils dilate slightly; and his fingers dig into Steve's hips hard enough to bruise. That's all the answer that Steve needs, and he lightly swats Danny's ass again, enjoying the way the taut muscles spring back into place once his palm leaves the surface of Danny's pinking cheek.

Steve knows that he should focus, bring them back to the conversation he's been trying to have with Danny for what feels like forever now. A conversation he should have realized would take longer than he'd anticipated. For all of Danny's bravado, the man is highly sensitive, and doesn't trust easily.

When Steve brings the palm of his hand down on Danny's ass a fourth time, drawing a moan from his partner. This time he leaves his hand there, squeezes the smarting flesh and Danny makes a sound that's something between a whimper and a sigh.

"So," and it sounds like the word's being clawed out of Danny's throat, "you love me, and, and…"

"I want you all to myself," Steve says, and he pinches Danny's ass, causing Danny to take a sharp intake of air. "Not a part time lover. Danny, I want you forever. Will you marry me?"

Steve latches his mouth onto Danny's before the other man can answer, and kisses him like a sailor who's been out to sea for years and has only a few hours of shore leave before he has to depart for foreign waters. He pours every bit of himself into the kiss, praying that Danny will understand what words can't communicate. When he pulls away, the both of them are panting, and he fears that Danny's ass will forever bear the imprint of his fingertips.

"Yes," Danny says, when he's no longer gasping for air. "I'll marry you."

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><p>Please review. Thanks<p> 


	34. Love to Love you, Baby

**Disclaimer**: Don't own them. They're probably much happier that way.

**A/N**: Inspired by Donna Summers', "Love to Love You Baby". (Seventeen minutes long – listen, it's hot…)

**Warning:** Apparently the 'f' word runs rampant throughout the course of this more than a drabble offering...I am not even sure how many times the 'f' word is used, but, it's a lot.

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><p>Danny likes to wrestle with Steve. Legs and arms and cocks locked together in a match where both of them come out on top.<p>

He likes to rock and roll his hips, stick his fingers in the crack of Steve's ass and…nudge. He likes the feel of Steve's ass in his hands – kneading, pinching, stroking, fisting.

Mostly though, he likes when they fuck.

"What?" Steve asks, when Danny's stared too long, watching him wake from sleep.

Danny grins. He likes this version of Steve. Early morning stubble, breath that stinks like ass-crack, brow scrunched up in befuddlement.

It's… _cute_.

It shouldn't be this easy to attribute such an innocent word like, cute, to a hard-as-brass-knuckles-I'd-kill-you-as-soon-as-loo k-at-you Navy SEAL.

But, from where Danny lies beside the man-of-action-killing-machine, it's easy to ascribe many an unseemly attribute to him. Cute, adorable, _pretty…_

And, when Steve's close-cropped hair is scratching the underside of his chin as he _snuggles_ close to Danny, arms wrapped around him like a little boy with a teddy bear, it's hard not to think of Steve as sweet.

'Course, he won't share any of these insights with the other man, because Danny knows that Steve won't understand what words like cute and pretty and sweet do to him, unless he shows him. Steve isn't a man given to, or moved by, words. Danny is, but he understands his man, thinks that Steve understands him too.

So, Danny grips Steve's hip with one hand and wraps the other around Steve's morning wood, and latches his mouth onto Steve's just as the man lets out a stuttering moan. He rubs the already weeping head of Steve's dick with the tip of his thumbnail and gently squeezes the shaft.

Steve's eyes close and his back arches, and he draws his knees up alongside Danny, planting his feet to anchor them. Danny's tongue plunges into Steve's mouth, stealing the next moan before it's fully formed.

Danny's hand is sliding up and down Steve's cock, slick with pre-cum, and Danny is losing himself in the erratic rhythm when Steve shudders and his hands fly to Danny's cock, fumbling their way to wrap around the shaft, fingers finding and fondling Danny's balls. Steve's eyes close and his back arches up off the bed.

"Fuck," Danny breathes out. "Yeah, baby, just like that. Fuck…" He's seeing stars behind his own closed eyelids and Steve is cute and pretty and hot-as-holy-fuck. The man's a living, breathing muscle-bound teddy bear.

Danny's going to have carpal tunnel by the time he's done, but fuck, fuck, fuck. Steve's hands are making quick work of him, but then Steve stops, and begs, without words, just pantomimes, hands gripping Danny's other wrist and drawing it to his bared ass.

Steve's grunting like a jungle monkey, and Danny spits on his fingers, slips them inside of his lover. They've done this before, but each and every time Danny almost loses it when he brushes against Steve's prostate and the man whimpers and starts to plead with him.

"Danny, please," Steve's eyes are open now, pupils wide as nickels, teeth digging into his bottom lip, hips raised just enough to make it easy for him. "Gotta, gotta...just…fuck…Danny…"

And hearing his name uttered like that, like it's a fucking prayer, Danny shivers. He pulls his fingers free and then, using Steve's pre-cum, mixed with his own, he applies the ad hoc lubricant, spreading it over his cock. Steve's moved one hand between them, giving Danny permission to focus on himself while he attends to his own erection with long, gentle pulls on his cock.

With Steve's encouragement, the soft, keening, not-quite-words that constitute a supplication, Danny pushes inside of Steve, feels the hard, muscular walls constrict, and give around his cock. It's a welcome feeling, one that Danny hopes will never cease to make him feel like he's the king of the fucking world when he moves inside of Steve.

Steve's breath falters, and he's panting like a mountain gorilla – Danny's watched enough of the Discovery Channel to know what one sounds like.

"Danny, fuck, fuck, ghod, I…I…Daaaannn…o." Steve's voice falters, his mouth opens and closes without making a sound, and then his voice fails him completely.

When the head of Danny's dick pushes and prods against the bundle of nerves inside of him, Steve comes, hard. White, hot and sticky, semen shoots out of Steve in a jerking stream, getting caught in the hairs on Danny's chest as it dots and smears Steve's belly.

Steve's ass tightens around Danny's erection as the man continues to ride out the tail end of his orgasm, and Danny grunts and pants and whimpers. He can't even think straight, just knows that he sounds less like a man and more like something from the animal kingdom.

They should be relocated to a zoo. Relegated to an X-rated exhibit. Caged. No flash cameras. Standing room only. Don't feed, don't touch. Caution: Animals may bite.

And Danny does just that, he dips his head, fastens his teeth onto Steve's collarbone and bites. Steve curses and his fingers dig into Danny's hips with bruising force.

"Steve, Steve, Steve..." the cadence of the single, repeated syllable increases in time to Danny's thrusts. The single syllable starts breaking up into an almost unrecognizable amalgamation of Steve's name as Danny loses himself and comes closer and closer to coming undone, "St…eee…ve…eh…ungh…"

Danny's chuffing and moaning and, fuck, fuck, fuck, he's coming, spilling inside of Steve before he can pull out. Steve urges him to ride out the final throes of his orgasm inside of him, and when he's completely spent, lying sprawled out on top of Steve, unable to move a single muscle, Steve tucks the sheets around them, shifts and slides, wraps his arms around him, and_ snuggles_.

_Cute as a fucking button,_ Danny thinks.

"What was that?" Steve's voice is raspy, and quiet. Deadly.

_Shit, was that aloud? _Danny stiffens, but when Steve tucks his head beneath Danny's chin, and settles a hand alongside the outer edge of his ass, Danny relaxes. He waits a few seconds longer, until Steve's breathing has evened out.

"Nothing," Danny murmurs sleepily, kisses the tattoo closest to his mouth – the one on Steve's left bicep – and wisely keeps the rest of his thoughts to himself. _Cute, pretty, adorable killing machine._

Danny likes this. Fucking, and then falling asleep wrapped up in Steve. Legs and arms entangled. Cocks happy. Sticky cum drying between them like glue.

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><p>Reviews are like Kelly Rowland's, "Motivation". Motivate me?<p> 


	35. Aftermath

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter

**A/N:** Inspired by the song,"Aftermath," by Lighthouse.

This is in response to _mirs13_'s review where an inquiry was made about Danny's quick agreement to marry Steve, wondering if he was as invested in Steve as Steve was in him. mirs13 posited the following: "...see Danny somehow showing Steve that he does really loves him too or god forbid something happen to Steve and then Danny really does realize that Steve is everything he wants in his life." Danny was in danger during their stakeout in previous snippets, and now here's Steve in danger, and Danny realizing how important Steve is to him.

_francis2_, this isn't quite a cold shower, but it might work as such...

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><p>Danny holds Steve's hand, refusing to let go even when the paramedics arrive to take him to the hospital. He can't – won't – let go; if he does, he's afraid that Steve will slip away from him, and he can't lose him.<p>

Not now.

Not ever.

"GSW to the shoulder…"

"…gurney…"

"Sir, sir…"

Danny's hand is wrenched away from Steve's, and he's clutching at air. Empty, his fingers scrabble at nothing, and fail to regain their hold.

Steve's being wheeled away from him, loaded in an ambulance, and Chin's pulling on his arm, saying something, but Danny can't hear it. He hears a roar, like the ocean, and he can't seem to catch his breath. Like it was he, instead of Steve, who was shot.

Blood. Too, too much. Seeping through his fingers. Staining the earth. Danny can't tear his eyes away from where it's been spilled.

And, he's shaking, falling apart.

Chin's holding him, keeping him upright, speaking to him in that calm, soothing manner that he's known for, but Danny still can't hear him. He wonders if this is what it felt like for Chin to lose Malia, watching her take her final breaths, close her eyes, lose her grip.

Was it just this morning that he woke up in Steve's bed, naked, Steve wrapped around him like a blanket, warmth radiating off the man like a furnace?

The earth crashes down around his ears – palm trees swept to their knees by the wind – he's falling, despite Chin's steady hand. Without Steve, Danny's lost, a soul wrecked against a cold, unforgiving shore.

"Steven…"

Danny's lungs fail to fill, and black encroaches on his vision. Chin's lips are moving rapidly, his forehead crinkled in lines of worry, and Danny doesn't understand why.

Steve's the one bleeding. Steve's blood is watering the thirsty ground, coating Danny's hands even in the absence of the man.

The vest is removed and Danny's lungs fill, but there's little comfort. Steve – Danny's life – is gone.

Chin's lips, pursed in concern, hover over him, and take over Danny's view of the cloudy sky.

It's been threatening to rain for days, clouds gathering in wolf packs, dark and angry. The wetness on Danny's cheeks, however, isn't from the rain that refuses to fall, even when it should.

Danny closes his eyes when Chin's lips continue to move, but fail to communicate.

"…shock…" Chin's voice is coming to him from somewhere far away. He doesn't understand. Is Steve in shock?

Danny doesn't want to open his eyes, because it would tear him away from the picture that he's got of Steve – happy and whole; the embodiment of living, breathing perfection, with chiseled abs and a tight ass, body glistening with sweat in the early morning light that seeps in through their blinds, and Steve, bless him, looks for all the world like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar when Danny catches him watching him wake.

"Oh, Danny…" Kono's voice reaches out to him like a benediction, rousing him.

Her hand, a cool compress on his forehead, beckons him back to reality, and he's struggling to breathe in the absence of Steve.

"…hospital…shock…ribs…"

"Danny," Kono's voice, a dog with a bone, takes him by the throat, and his eyes fly open. "Steve is going to be alright, you hear me? He's going to be fine. He's a fighter. You know that. You can't do this to us, alright? Danny, you can't do this. You have to breathe. Do you hear me?"

Kono pounds on his chest, but Danny feels nothing, and Chin catches her by the wrist before she can slap his chest again.

Danny opens his mouth, gasps in a lungful of stagnant, vog-tainted air, and tastes the all too familiar coppery tang of blood. It tickles the back of this throat, making him cough when he tries to swallow.

Chin helps him sit up; Kono makes him take a sip of lukewarm water. He spits it out – it's phlegmy and red, and his head is aching, his chest hurts, but all he can think about is Steve and how his partner closed his eyes, and didn't open them again.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Steve wasn't supposed to get shot.

They were at a parade, representing Five-0 in a march down Ala Moana Boulevard. Steve was arguing with Danny, shaking his head at something that he'd said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and then he was falling to his knees, a neat, round hole in his shoulder, spilling blood, and Danny was punched in the chest, hard, the vest taking the full impact of the bullet that could very well have ended his life. Maybe should have.

Others fell around them, but Danny only had eyes for Steve.

"Danny, we need to get you to the hospital," Chin's speaking to him like he's a little kid, and Danny, unable to form words, nods his understanding.

Hospital.

Steve.

"Steve?" It's a broken whisper, and Danny's eyes slide closed.

It's difficult to breathe, and that has nothing to do with the possibility of broken or bruised ribs, and everything to do with Steve. Steve, whose blood is on his hands, literally and figuratively.

"Danny, promise me that you'll stay with us," Kono begs.

Danny doesn't even have the strength to nod, but he tries to smile, to reassure Kono that he will do his best to do as she's asked. It's what Steve would do in his stead.

Danny's being lifted, carried away, and he hopes that wherever he's being taken, it'll be to Steve. He sucks in a painful breath as a realization settles heavily on his chest, like a cat trying to rouse her stubborn owner – he loves Steve.

He loves Steve, and he can't breathe.

He loves Steve, and he doesn't want to live in a world without him.

"Danny, if you don't start breathing, so help me ghod, I'm going to tell Steve to kick your ass when he's back on his feet again," Kono's tear-filled voice drags another breath from him, and he clings to the promise of her words – that Steve will be around to kick his ass for scaring Kono and Chin.

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><p>Reviews would be awesome and inspiring. Mahalos<p> 


	36. Nice Shot

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by Filter's, "Hey Man, Nice Shot". I've always wanted to write something based on this song...hopefully this works. This snippet ties in with the previous one.

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><p>"He got some good shots in," a disembodied voice is speaking, and Steve is trying to track the unknown man's words, but he's finding it difficult. "Too bad he offed himself before we got him."<p>

"Yeah, would'a been nice to bring that asshole to justice," another bodiless voice – too close, too far away – is speaking now, and Steve wants to understand the who's, and what's, and why's, but it's as though he's trapped in a thick fog. He can't see or feel anything, and he can't think straight. Every thought that he does manage to form in the miasma that's taken over his mind leads him back to the same thing, and it terrifies him.

_Danny. _

_Danny's face frozen in a mask of pain and fear. Danny's hand slick and red with blood – shaking like he's palsied. Danny fading in and out of Steve's vision, like a ghost. Danny's lips hovering over his, speaking broken words that Steve hasn't a hope in hell of understanding through a solid wall of pain that takes his breath away. _

_Danny, sobbing. _

"Da-a-n-o." It feels like his mouth has been stuffed with cotton. His throat's dry, like it gets when he's been sitting around a bonfire, sipping on a beer, staring at the flames.

"I think he's coming to," the first man says in a hushed voice, as though it hadn't been his intent for Steve to wake.

"Looks that way," the second man speaks a little louder than his friend, "think he's asking after his partner."

"He here?"

"He's around here somewhere. I think he was shot too, took it in the vest, but there were complications," the second man's words reach Steve as though they're being spoken in another room.

Steve struggles to open his eyes. He has to get to Danny, make sure that his partner's okay, the word, 'complications,' scares him. But, the room's spinning, and his eyes aren't even open yet.

"Think we'd better get a nurse, or a doctor, in here," the first man sounds worried.

"Shit," the second man's voice sounds warbled, but closer. "Hey, McGarrett, take it easy. You were shot, but you're gonna be okay. One of the shooters is dead; HPD is looking for the other one, won't be long before we have him in custody."

"Da-n-o?" He's weak as a kitten, and when Steve finally does manage to prize his eyes open, everything's blurry. He can't even make out shapes. Colors are indistinct. There's just darkness and light, and they blend together like shadows dancing in the midst of flames.

"You in pain?"

Steve blinks, opens his mouth and closes it. His mind and body are not in sync with each other, and he just wants Danny, not whoever the hell is standing over him asking him about pain when he can't feel a damn thing, except for a numbing fear, because Danny's hurt and Steve should be there for him and he's not.

"Da-a-nn-" Steve tries asking for Danny again, this time he ends up in a coughing fit that makes his lungs burn and his chest ache.

"Take it easy," the blob standing over him says, and Steve wonders if the man is as thickheaded as he seems.

"I think we should go get his partner," the first man says.

Steve wants to say something to make that happen, but, while his lips are up to the task of forming his partner's name, his voice doesn't seem to be onboard with the plan. His eyes don't seem to want to stay open either, and the hand he tries to move, to keep the blob from leaving him and not getting Danny, fails him completely.

He's trapped in his own body, and Steve doesn't like it. The thought of Danny, hurt and alone, makes him want to fight his way to the surface of the quicksand that's slowly dragging him back down into the darkness he's just managed to escape.

He needs Danny like he's never needed anyone or anything in his life. Needs to see that Danny is alive, and okay – still breathing. Danny, not being here with him, feels wrong.

"Officers, I need you to leave the room," a woman's voice, soft, yet strong and commanding, breaks through the quagmire of Steve's sinking thoughts, and brings him back to the surface, sputtering for air.

"Yes, ma'am, we'll be out here, standing guard." Steve isn't sure which of the two men is speaking, and he doesn't really care, just wonders if anyone's guarding Danny, keeping his partner safe.

"He's been asking after his partner," the other man says, "think it'd be okay if…"

"Might not be a bad idea," the woman says before the man finishes his thought and something bright and blinding flashes in Steve's eyes, settles itself into the back of his skull, like the edge of a dull knife being stabbed into his brain.

"If he's been given the all-clear, bring him up. Heard that he's agitated and been asking after this one. Might as well have both of them in the same room, save the taxpayers some money not having to have two sets of officers guarding two different rooms."

"Yes, ma'am."

Steve grits his teeth against the onslaught of pain as the woman pokes and prods him. His shoulder's on fire and his head is pounding, and he just wants Danny, because Danny can make the pain go away. Danny, with his magic fingers and his soothing voice – whether it's dripping sarcasm or talking dirty – will make it all go away, make it right, make sense of this, whatever the hell _this_ is.

"You were lucky," the woman says, "the bullet went right through your shoulder. It was a nice shot. Not that I think gunshot wounds are nice, mind you," she pats his uninjured shoulder, and Steve feels something pinch the back of his hand as she bustles about, "but, as far as gunshot wounds go, you are one lucky man."

Steve's mind can't keep up with the woman's words. He knows that there are such things as nice, clean shots, but usually that means that the intended target is dead. To be alive, means that the shot wasn't good. You don't shoot to wound, you shoot to kill. At least in his line of work, you do. Whoever shot him hadn't gotten a nice shot off, and he's grateful for that, because it means that he gets to live. That he gets to see Danny again.

"Da-nn-" Steve has to stop and swallow before he can finish saying Danny's name.

The woman, _a nurse_, he finally surmises, pats the back of his hand. He hears a click, and a whir, and feels something cool enter his veins, and spread like a wildfire through his body, dulling the pain that she'd brought on through her poking and prodding.

In an effort to keep the encroaching darkness at bay, Steve pictures Danny – naked, lying on his bed, lips turned downward in a sultry, come-hither pout, a wicked gleam in his eye as he beckons Steve closer with a crooked finger.

Steve doesn't want to sleep, even if it means healing. He wants to stay awake long enough to see, with his own eyes, that Danny is truly safe and well, and to ascertain for himself what was meant by the word, 'complications.'


	37. Broken Glass

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N**: Inspired by the song, "Broken Glass," as performed by Mayaeni. I hope that this works as well as I wanted it to.

Guest - the ambiguous nature of the 'guards' was intentional. They may pop up later. Good catch with that. ;)

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><p>Danny's afraid to touch Steve, and it's stupid.<p>

He's not a stupid man…normally. But, when it comes to Steve, Danny feels like he loses all sense of rationality. Like he's thrown all common sense out the window, along with the proverbial bathwater.

It's insane. Or maybe he's just insane.

And, really, _they_ – he and Steve – shouldn't – in any universe, let alone this one – work, as a couple.

Except, they do, and Danny doesn't really understand how or why their relationship works. Maybe it's because they blow shit up and battle bad guys together on an almost daily basis and then fall into bed together like it's just a normal part of their day.

Or, maybe it's because ingredients like oil and water (him and Steve), when they're mixed together and put under heat and pressure, make for an awesome chocolate cake (sex to die for).

Danny feels like an idiot, but he can't make his hand move the rest of the half inch it needs to for him to rest it on top of Steve's.

Steve's lying so still, save for the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest as he breathes, thankfully on his own. He's pale from blood loss, and Danny remembers how Steve's blood had stained his hands, the ground beneath them. He'd washed until his hands were pink from the hot water and the scrubbing, and still, Danny can feel Steve's blood on the palm of his right hand, gathered and tucked away in the creases.

There's a part of Danny that's afraid that if he touches Steve, he'll lose him. That Steve will break apart. Or, maybe, more realistically, it's him who will break into a million little pieces.

It's illogical, this fear that Danny has. He knows this, and yet, he can't bring himself to touch the man that he loves. And, he does love Steve.

They aren't fuck buddies, or some kind of passing fad. Here today, gone tomorrow.

Danny's not going to wake up one day, roll over, get up and walk out the door and never come back. He's in it for the long haul, and maybe that's what's scaring him so much. Because, when Danny makes up his mind about something, that's it, he doesn't renege.

Danny doesn't love and then leave. Fuck, he never really stopped loving Rachel, and then there's Grace – he moved across an ocean to be with her.

Danny doesn't know if he can do this with Steve, because he can't – won't – lose Steve, too. He won't survive another loss. His heart can only take so much before it shatters, like glass. No horse's men or kings to put him back together again with a broken heart's version of Elmer's glue. The thought almost makes him laugh, and he shakes his head.

He's trembling, and Danny still can't make his hand move.

Steve had said that he loved him, had asked Danny to marry him, of all things, and Danny'd said, yes. But, until this moment – staring down at Steve, lying wrecked and looking so…helpless – Danny hadn't really understood what it was that he'd agreed to.

Does he love Steve? Yes. That's a given. He feels like he's loved Steve forever, that some other force was at work in putting them together, in the right time and place. Until then, they'd only been dancing with shadows.

Does Steve love him? If the way the man looks at him when he thinks Danny doesn't notice – like Danny is a whole gift basket filled with hand grenades, and he's the world and the universe, all wrapped up into one compact package – is anything to go by, yes.

Is it enough?

Danny's hand hovers over Steve's. He can feel the heat radiating off of Steve, and wonders if that means he has a fever, or if it's just because Steve, in spite of his practically being a fish he's in the water so much, always runs a little hot.

Steve didn't die. But Danny thought that he had, Kono's reassurances that Steve wouldn't dare die on them notwithstanding. Until he'd set foot in this room, after contending with doctors and nurses who wanted to keep him overnight for observation because of three cracked ribs and deep bruising in his chest that would probably take months to subside, Danny didn't believe that Steve was alive. He'd refused to take Chin's or the doctors' word for it. He'd needed to see it with his own eyes.

And, now that he is standing there, in Steve's hospital room, watching the steady rise and fall of Steve's chest, Danny finally believes that, yes, Steve is alive.

It's a miracle, and Danny's afraid of touching Steve. Afraid that his touch will dispel whatever magic or faith is at work in keeping Steve's chest rising and falling.

"D…n..y?" Steve's voice is a barely there whisper, and Danny's gaze flits immediately to Steve's face. "…'k?"

Danny laughs, and it's a choked, broken sound. His chest aches, and his eyes fill with tears – he's never been afraid of crying, never thought it made anyone seem any less a man for it. So, this, he's okay with. He lets the tears fall unchecked.

He can't speak, can barely breathe. His stomach twists, and Danny doesn't know if he can do this.

Suddenly, Danny understands why Rachel left him. Why she couldn't stand by his side and wait, and not fall apart with the fear that he'd be hurt or killed in something gone wrong. He feels it too, the urge to turn around and run away, because his heart is in Steve's hands – held by a reckless man whose sole agenda is to set things to rights in the world, regardless the cost to himself.

Danny wonders if Steve realizes the entirety of that cost, that it would mean Danny's life too, should Steve forfeit his, because Danny's heart, his very life, is irrevocably tied to Steve's. When Danny loves someone, it's with every fiber of his being, and it isn't something that he can simply shut off. He's not made that way, and if that makes him a weak man by the world's standards, then the world can go fuck itself as it's on its way to hell in a hand basket.

Danny loves Steve. He loves Steve so much that it makes his heart ache, and his head spin. It takes his breath away, and he can't – won't – lose Steve.

"D…nny?" Steve's eyes are slit open; his brow is furrowed with worry, and Danny swipes at the tears running down his cheeks with the back of his hand. "You…'k?"

Danny smiles, shakes his head, and blinks away the tears. "Me? I'm fine. You're the one who almost died."

Steve frowns and he attempts to raise his head, but it flops back against the pillow, and Danny's stomach clenches at the way that Steve's fingers scrabble at the sheets. Danny's hand moves, and this time without him telling it to. Steve's fingers clamp around his, and Danny squeezes Steve's hand, gaining comfort from the touch.

He can breathe again, and Danny presses his forehead against Steve's, rests it there for a while, relishing the physical contact. He feels whole, and wants to kick himself for being afraid that this spell – Steve and him – would break so easily. That, if he does something wrong, it'll disappear in a puff of smoke. That what he has with Steve is fragile.

"I love you," Danny says, "let's get married?"

Danny knows that he's repeating Steve's words from not too long ago, and that Steve is currently under the influence of drugs, he is too. It's not the most ideal time for them to be having this conversation, and Steve probably won't be able to articulate a response. But, none of that stops Danny from asking, and it doesn't stop him from feeling like he's wearing his heart on his sleeve and fearing that Steve will stomp on it.

Steve's forehead crinkles beneath Danny's and his eyes have this kicked puppy dog look to them that does funny things to Danny's stomach and heart. Steve's fingers flex and curl in Danny's hand, and the man swallows, opens his mouth. Danny feels like a heel when Steve frowns in frustration, because, instead of words, all that comes out of his mouth is a breathy, wheezing sound.

Steve's eyes narrow and Danny can read the determination in them and in the way that Steve locks his jaw. Steve lets out a loud, impatient breath, and then, fingers clutching Danny's tightly, he nods, and mouths the word, 'Yes.'

"As soon as we get out of the hospital?" Danny asks quietly. He can see that Steve's strength is flagging, that the drugs are pulling him back under, and he knows that they'll have to do this again, when both of them are equally coherent and cognizant, but he asks it anyway.

Steve smiles, and nods tiredly. He purses his lips, and, with a dry chuckle and a smile, Danny obliges. He drops his mouth to Steve's, and kisses him lightly. He knows, intellectually, that Steve won't fall apart, that a kiss won't give him a coronary, but he doesn't want to press his luck, and he pulls back, relinquishing Steve's mouth, sooner than he wants to.

"I love you," Danny repeats, because it bears repeating.

Then he sits down in the chair beside Steve's bed and watches him fall asleep. Watches the rise and fall of Steve's chest even out, the worry lines in Steve's forehead smooth out, the muscles around his mouth grow lax, as sleep claims him. It's something that Danny's done countless times before, and it's something that Danny hopes he'll be doing for years to come.

Seconds, minutes, hours later, Danny drifts off, hand still held in Steve's Kung Fu-like grip. He dreams of the ocean. Smells the salt on the air, hears the rush of the waves as they beat themselves against the shore.

He sees Steve standing waist deep in the water, holding a hand out for Danny to take. Steve's smiling broadly, like the sun, beckoning Danny forward. Danny takes a tentative step into the ocean, his foot's swallowed up by the sandy bottom, but, with Steve's silent encouragement, he takes another and then another step forward. Water swirls around his calves, his hips, and his feet sink into the sand. He wobbles, arms wind milling when a wave threatens to topple him.

Steve meets him halfway, grabs his hand and then, just when Danny thinks that Steve's going to kick his feet out from under him, sending him beneath the surface of the water, Steve pulls him close, wraps his arms around him and spins them around, pointing toward the horizon. They're standing side-by-side; Steve's got an arm draped around Danny's shoulder, the other around his waist.

Confused as to why Steve's eyes have a delighted glint to them, and why the man is smiling like a certifiable maniac, Danny's eyes follow Steve's finger. There's a pod of dolphins jumping and spinning in syncopation with the sun as it sets – the sky an array of gold, orange, shades of pink and purple. It's beautiful, but Danny's eyes are on Steve, and he can't tear them away.

_Forever_, the word is a whispered susurration on the waves, followed closely by, _Love._

Sighing, Danny turns and kisses Steve, and then he jerks awake, and blinks at the scowling visage of an unhappy nurse who ushers him into a bed that's been wheeled next to Steve's.

"Detective Williams," the nurse scolds, "I don't want to catch you out of this hospital bed and in that chair until you've been properly discharged. You need rest if your ribs are going to heal properly, and so does he. "

Danny resists the urge to roll his eyes, and mutters an obedient, "Yes, ma'am."

He's handed a couple of pills – a muscle relaxant, and something for pain – and a cup of lukewarm water. Grimacing, he takes the pills, and the water, and under the nurse's watchful eye, he dutifully swallows.

Just as the door clicks shut behind the nurse as she exits the room, Danny hears a soft chuckle coming from Steve.

"Laugh it up," Danny says, "next time she comes back, I'll tell her that you need a sponge bath and a shave."

"You wouldn't…" Steve's voice is weak, and horrified. It sounds like he's swallowed glass, but it's there, and some of the tension that Danny's felt since Steve was taken away from him by the paramedics bleeds away, and he relaxes, allowing the drugs to do their work, knowing that Steve will be okay.

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><p>Reviews are much coveted and appreciated.<p> 


	38. In Sickness

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter; I make reference to Tylenol, no copyright infringement or commercial enterprise is intended through the use of the word Tylenol in this.

**A/N**: Inspired by a friend who said that I should write something light and humorous after the heavier shooting arc. No music for inspiration this time, just the boringness that was a mandatory training (yes, I took copious notes too). I started this there, and finished it at home, and it is so late that I am rambling.

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><p>Danny can't sleep, and apparently, if the tossing and turning going on alongside him is anything to go by, neither can Steve.<p>

"Can't sleep?" Danny breaks the silence, grasps Steve's wrist between his thumb and forefinger. Steve doesn't say anything, just rolls onto his back and sighs, tucks his other arm behind his head.

Danny can feel Steve's eyes on him, the racing of Steve's heart through the pulse point that Danny's got his forefinger pressed to. Danny raises Steve's hand between them, and presses his lips to the inside of Steve's wrist, feels the warmth radiating off of the man, and tries not to let the father in him come to the fore with worry. Steve doesn't need to be mother henned right now, or whatever the father version of that is.

But, it's hard for him to turn the father in him off. It was the same with Rachel, even before Grace had been born. Whether it was a slight fever, a stubbed toe, or an upset stomach – Danny needed to be doing something to help, to fix it.

Danny knows that whatever _this _is, that taking Steve's temperature and plying him with Tylenol isn't going to fix it.

"You've got a fever," Danny says quietly, kicking himself for giving into his overly protective fatherly side after all.

Steve tugs on the hand that Danny's holding, but Danny tightens his grip, refuses to lose this physical connection that he has to Steve. Steve lets out a frustrated breath, but allows Danny to keep his hand. His eyes are still boring into Danny, making Danny's skin crawl.

"I'm fine," Steve says. "You should get some sleep; we've got work tomorrow."

The use of the pronoun you, instead of we, gives Danny chicken skin, and makes his 'daddy senses' go off – big time. He might not have super powers, like he sometimes thinks Steve does, but Danny's gut is a pretty good indicator of what's right and wrong in the world, and right now, his gut is telling him that something is very, very wrong.

"What's wrong?" Danny mentally slaps himself, and wonders what the hell has happened to his ability not to give voice to his inner misgivings.

He sits up in bed, turns toward Steve, even though he can't really see the man in the dark, and squints – as if that will help him make out the shadowy lump that's Steve any better.

"Danny," Steve's voice is tense, tight with some emotion that Danny can't read, "I'm fine, go to sleep."

"If you're fine, Steven, then how come you aren't sleeping?" Danny can't help himself now, and he glares in Steve's direction, even though it's lost in the dark.

"I could ask you the same thing," Steve says, and he pushes himself up to sit alongside Danny so that their knees are touching.

To Danny's daddy trained ears and eyes (even darkness could not hinder his daddy vision) it took more effort than it should have for Steve to sit up in bed. He tries to resist the urge he has to place the back of his hand against Steve's forehead, but now that his 'daddy gene' has been activated, there's no turning back.

Steve jerks and lets out a sound that's halfway between a growl and a squeak, but Danny's used to this – Grace has never been a very good patient when she's sick; she probably takes after him in that regard– and the back of his hand finds its mark.

"What're you doing?" Steve sounds horrified, and he tries to push himself back toward the headboard.

"Checking your temperature," Danny says.

He needs a truer gauge, because, while Steve's forehead feels warm to the touch, he's not certain just _how_ warm Steve is, and if it warrants another trip to the hospital. He hopes that the infection that had settled into Steve's shoulder wound shortly after he'd been shot hasn't made a reappearance. That had been a miserable two weeks in which Danny had been helpless to do anything for Steve, but watch and wait and pray that the antibiotics would do their work and help his partner kick the bug out of his system.

Danny leans forward and presses his lips to Steve's forehead – he's more than just a little warm. It's something Danny's done with Rachel and Grace – something his father and mother have both done with him and his brother and sisters when they were kids. It's_ normal_, but Steve stiffens, and presses his back to the headboard like a frightened animal.

"Sometimes I wonder if you weren't raised by wolves," Danny mutters, but he pulls away from Steve, giving him some space.

"I wasn't raised by wolves," Steve says defensively, and Danny can picture the look on his partner's face – it's very similar to the look on Grace's face when she's sulking. He'd laugh, but Danny knows that it would only hurt Steve's feelings, which he does have, even if he won't admit to having them.

Danny sighs, and shakes his head. "I know that, it's a saying."

"It doesn't sound like any saying I've ever heard before," Steve says petulantly, and that's when Danny knows that Steve isn't going to be one of those people who is easy to take care of when he's sick. Not that he was expecting that of Steve.

"Babe," Danny keeps his voice as calm and soothing as he can, because Steve's muscles are coiled and the man is ready to bolt out of the bed. Danny knows that he needs to tread very carefully. "You're running a fever."

Danny can feel the heat of Steve's laser-like glare boring into him, and, though he knows that he's taking his life in his hands with what he's about to say, he can't not say it. He can't not be a father, even if it is to his – I could kill you with my pinky toe Navy SEAL – partner who hasn't been fathered, or mothered, by anyone in forever.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, and Danny swears that the man plants himself deeper into the mattress and wonders if, when he's better, Steve will teach him how to do that. Not that there's much need for Danny to meld himself to the mattress, but it would still be a nice trick to learn.

"I'm not going to the hospital," Steve says sulkily, and then he sneezes.

Danny disguises a chuckle behind a cough, and makes a mental note to send a text to Chin, Kono and the governor, letting them know that they won't be coming in to work later that day.

"I don't think you need to go to the hospital," Danny says, and he places a hand on Steve's knee, jiggling it. Steve just seems so much like an overgrown child right now, that he can't help the playful gesture. "It's probably just a cold, or…"

"I don't get sick," Steve interrupts, and there's a trace of pride to his voice that makes Danny groan.

Danny squeezes Steve's knee, but resists the urge he has to rustle the man's hair, not that there's much there to rustle. "Steve, everyone gets sick."

"Not me."

Danny can picture Steve's bottom lip, stuck out and trembling. Steve's breath hitches, and he hunches in on himself, and Danny moves his hand from Steve's knee to the back of Steve's neck. The muscles are taut, and Steve groans when Danny begins to knead them. His goal right now is to get Steve to relax. He knows that getting the man to admit that he's sick just isn't going to happen, and Steve's fever is not dangerously high, but he's got to be feeling miserable, even if he won't say that he is.

Danny's been told that his fingers can work magic, and he hopes that it's true – that it's not just something he's been told by someone wanting to placate him, or ingratiate themselves to him. Not that telling him he's got magical fingers would make Danny cozy up to someone, except for maybe that one time back in…

Steve's moan brings Danny back to the present, as does the way that Steve's muscles give way beneath Danny's fingertips when the man finally starts to relax. Danny sighs in relief, and wonders how best to put the next stage of his plan into action – namely get some Tylenol into Steve who will never, even under threat of torture, acknowledge that he needs it.

Steve lets out a squawk of protest when Danny removes his hand from the back of his neck, but he doesn't say anything, just sags back against the headboard. His hand snakes out and snags Danny's hip when Danny tries to sneak out of the bed.

Danny applies a little pressure to Steve's wrist – it's a move that he learned from Steve himself – and Steve's hand goes limp as it releases its hold on him. His action is met with a string of curses, but Danny ignores them in favor of extricating himself from the bed sheets that he's somehow become entangled in.

It's a near thing, but Danny manages not to fall on his ass when he works his way to his side of the bed – though, if Steve is to be believed Danny doesn't have a side of the bed, because he takes up the entire bed, sprawling over both halves of it, and Steve. Danny thinks that Steve secretly loves it, that it makes him feel more secure having Danny take up the entirety of his bed as he claims that he does.

"Where're you going?" Steve's voice is small, panicked, and it pulls on Danny's heartstrings.

He is a dad, after all, and, even though it's Steve – a decorated and scarred Navy SEAL who's been to places in the world that Danny can't even pronounce– that he's dealing with, Danny's unable to stop thinking and reacting like a father. He turns around to face Steve, even though he knows that Steve can't really see him in the dark, and takes a deep breath.

"I'm just going into the bathroom to get a glass of water and a couple Tylenol for that fever of yours." Danny holds his breath.

"I don't need any Tylenol. I'm fine," Steve protests, and Danny lets out the breath that he'd been holding. He runs a hand through his hair, and, even though he'd anticipated that reaction from Steve, Danny had been secretly hoping that Steve would just go along with it.

Danny's tired, and it's already approaching two in the morning if the alarm clock's green numbers are to be believed, and he's got a sinking suspicion that they are – that he's not been sucked into an alternative universe or the Twilight Zone in the past half an hour. There's a part of Danny that hopes he is in an alternate universe, or that some creepy narrator voice will pop up and explain the situation that Danny's found himself in and welcome him to the Twilight Zone.

"No, you're not," Danny says firmly. "You've got a fever. I'm going to get you some Tylenol, and you're going to take it and swallow it without so much as a…"

"I haven't been sick since I was five," Steve says obstinately, but his protest is accompanied by a groan, and Danny wonders if the five year old version of Steve was as stubborn as the thirty-seven year old version of him is.

Danny rolls his eyes. "Of course you haven't."

Danny ignores the loud huff of complaint that comes from Steve and steps into the bathroom. He flicks the light on and immediately shields his eyes, blinking against the dark spots that blot his vision. He pulls open the medicine cabinet and quickly searches the shelves for the white and red bottle that he knows he brought over to Steve's, when it was still just Steve's place, before he'd officially moved in, and shakes his head when he sees that it's hidden behind a big bottle of men's vitamins.

Danny grabs the bottle off the shelf and dumps two pills into his hand. He can hear Steve muttering something beneath his breath, but he can't quite catch what it is that Steve's saying, just tidbits of words and phrases: "_…stubborn…pigheaded…doesn't listen…fine…don't need...he think he is, my mother?...not Grace…"_

Danny drowns out the rest of Steve's complaints by turning on the tap and filling up the glass he's left on the sink (despite Steve's objections) with cool water. Danny sometimes wakes up needing a glass of water, and he hates having to navigate his way through the dark house, to the kitchen to get it. It's common sense to leave a glass in the bathroom, no matter what Steve says to the contrary.

When Danny turns off the water, Steve's still muttering darkly, but Danny doesn't listen. Leaving the bathroom light on, he walks into the bedroom, letting the light guide him.

Steve is huddled against the far corner of the bed – knees drawn up to his chest, hunched over with the blankets pulled up over his shoulders now. He looks a little like Quasimodo, and that's when Danny knows that he's been watching too much Disney, because it's not the classic book by Victor Hugo,_Notre Dame de Paris_, that he's referencing, but the Americanized cartoon version. Not that he's read the book, but, thanks to his sister, Marie, he knows more than he cares to about it.

Danny walks around the bed, because he doesn't relish another fight with the bed sheets – he has a feeling that he'll need every ounce of strength and willpower that he has left to deal with Steve who is watching his approach warily. Steve's eyes track him as though he's an enemy, and, for the first time Danny wonders if Steve has ever had flashbacks and if that's something he needs to keep an eye out for.

Steve's eyes narrow into angry slits when Danny closes in on him, and he scrunches down even more. The only parts of Steve visible are his eyes and the top of his head. Taking his life in his hands, Danny snatches the cellphone off of Steve's nightstand and quickly snaps a few photos. Steve utters what sounds like a threat that Danny assumes was made in another language because he can't understand a word of it, and he ducks his head further under the covers.

Danny knows that he's going to pay for that transgression later, and there's a dirty, distinctly non-fatherly, part of his mind that wonders just what Steven will do as payback for the photos Danny's taken of him at his worst. He hopes that Steve will be very creative with what he decides to do to him…provided that he even remembers this night.

"Steven," Danny uses the same tone of voice he'd use with Grace, or a frightened animal, in an attempt to coax Steve out of his cocoon. "I need you to swallow these pills, okay?"

Steve shakes his head, and burrows further into the blankets. Danny wonders if he's going to have to employ another fatherly tactic to get what he wants – tickling. It's a tried and true Williams' family method of securing compliance that works well with Grace, though, upon reflection Danny realizes that he didn't have much success using it with Rachel – there are pictures of him sporting the black eye he'd gotten when she'd _inadvertently _elbowed him.

Something tells Danny that tickling Steve would be like tickling a bear, and he'd end up with far more than just a black eye to show for it. He places the water on the nightstand, and ponders his next move. Steve looks like he's hunkered down for the duration, prepared to wait Danny out come hell or high water. Danny kneels beside the bed, so that he's closer to eye-level with Steve.

A series of sneezes, muffled by the nest of bedclothes that surrounds Steve, shakes the bed, and the blankets fall down around Steve's ears, giving Danny a better view of Steve's eyes which look glassy with the slight fever which has no doubt gone up due to Steve's ridiculous, childish antics. Steve may not have been sick since he was five-years-old, but it appeared that he was trying to make up for lost time by behaving like a five-year-old.

"Come on, Steve, open up," Danny cajoles. Steve's eyes follow Danny's hand, and he shakes his head. "Please?"

Steve narrows his eyes at him, and tilts his head to the side, as though he's considering whether or not he will comply. When he opens his mouth to say, "No," Danny, in a move quicker than Steve's eyes can follow, slips the pills into Steve's mouth and then he plucks the glass off the table and presses it to Steve's lips.

If looks could kill, Danny would drop dead from the glare that Steve's leveling him with. Danny merely raises an eyebrow in response to the quelling look and encourages Steve to take another sip of water. Steve makes it clear, with the tightening of his jaw, that he's only doing so under protest. And then, Steve's glare quickly morphs into something which is far more unsettling for Danny – an almost perfectly rendered hurt puppy dog look, complete with wide, round eyes, quivering lips and a slight frown.

Danny closes his eyes as his heart skips a beat. Even sick and behaving like a five-year-old, Steve does things to Danny's heart that he didn't think were possible. Danny had thought that what he and Rachel had was love, but he was wrong. This – Danny kneeling beside the bed, staring into Steve's overly bright eyes, holding a half-emptied glass of water in his hand – is love.

"'M not sick," Steve utters one last protest, and Danny laughs when a powerful sneeze follows on the heels of Steve's words.

"Of course you're not," Danny says, shaking his head. "I'm sure it's just allergies, Army boy."

Steve gives him a look that Danny correctly interprets as, _Navy, Danny. _Danny ignores it, and holds the glass of water to Steve's lips. He tilts it up so that Steve can finish off the last of the water. Danny places the empty glass on the nightstand behind him, and then he stands, groaning as his knee and back pop, one right after the other. It reminds him of his father, and Danny has to tamp down on the wave of homesickness that thinking of his father brings with it.

"Scooch over," Danny says, nudging Steve's shoulder.

Steve looks at him tiredly, and doesn't budge. Sighing, Danny walks around the bed, and then into the bathroom. He runs some water for himself, and then, after rearranging the pills in the medicine cabinet so that it's easier to find the Tylenol when he needs it, he flicks off the bathroom light.

Danny climbs onto the bed and settles himself behind Steve who is finally lying down on his side. He looks comfortable. Danny drapes an arm around Steve's shoulders, and inserts a leg between Steve's, and he places his chin in the crook of Steve's neck.

Steve's still slightly too warm, and Danny knows that sharing body heat isn't the best way for the fever to break, nor is it the smartest thing for him to do, cuddle up with a 'not sick', sick Steve, but he does it anyway, because, if he doesn't hold Steve, he won't be able to sleep.

"Thank you," Steve says, and he settles back against Danny, taking hold of the hand of the arm that Danny has draped over him. He sneezes, once, twice, and Danny can feel the sneezes reverberate through him. Steve kisses Danny's hand, and then he sighs, and his breath evens out into sleep.

"I love you," Danny says, and he kisses Steve's collarbone. As he drifts off to sleep, Danny hopes that he doesn't catch whatever it is that Steve _doesn't _have, because he hates being sick, and he's an even worse patient than Steve is.

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><p>Please, please, please review...mahalo<p> 


	39. Arrest

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Written for the h/c bingo square - arrest. The last few paragraphs were added by a fellow ECT, and tweaked by me. I hope that everyone enjoys reading.

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><p>Steve made the arrest at ten fifteen in the morning. He remembers the time because his watch stopped working. He looks at it now – the face is broken, a series of spider web-like cracks cover the surface and make it nearly impossible to read the numbers.<p>

'So much for being indestructible,' Steve thinks with a derisive snort, and he pulls the watch off his wrist, sends it crashing into the wall across from him. The impact is loud in the small space.

Danny had given it to him earlier that week, as a late anniversary gift.

"_Two years," he'd said, "we've been together, as a couple, for a little over two years now. You know that we owe Kono flowers, and Chin a steak dinner, right?"_

_Speechless, Steve just stared, gob smacked, at Danny who was grinning at him like a loon. Usually the maniacal grinning (if Danny was to be believed) was being done by him. He didn't know what to say in response to the gift, or the very public display of affection that Danny laid on him in the computer room – hands slipping into Steve's pockets and gripping a very large portion of Steve's ass and squeezing as he kissed Steve senseless and dizzy._

_Steve hadn't gotten Danny anything, but Danny didn't seem to mind as he mumbled a very subdued and husky-voiced, thanks, and agreed to getting Kono flowers, and treating Chin to dinner sometime that week. _

Neither of those things have happened yet. Won't happen if Danny doesn't wake up.

It was supposed to be a routine arrest. Everything was in place, and should have gone off like clockwork. But, their perp hadn't cooperated, and Steve really should have known that things weren't going to go the way that they'd been planned.

When Danny had gone after their quarry, disappearing around a corner, Steve's skin had gone cold, and his heart had stuttered in his chest. He'd known that something was going to go terribly wrong seconds before it happened.

Steve had gotten there a second, maybe two, too late to stop their perp from clocking Danny on the temple, and sending him crumpling to the ground, unconscious. Steve, seeing red, had quickly gone after the man who'd downed his partner.

Catching up with him, Steve had made sure to give the man a dose of what he'd done to Danny, breaking his new watch against the man's thick skull in the process. The man had been too stunned to resist when Steve snapped the cuffs around his wrists, unapologetically making them a little tighter than was strictly necessary.

By the time Steve had dragged the collared perp back toward his downed partner, Chin and Kono were already knelt down beside Danny, and an ambulance had been called.

Now, it's just a matter of waiting, and Steve isn't very good at that.

He swears that the minute hand hasn't moved the short distance from where it sits on the twelve to the first tick mark that demarcates that a minute's passed since he sat down in the waiting room chair – at Kono's and the doctor's insistence – an eternity ago. The doctor had promised to be back with news as soon as he had any, but he hasn't been back, and Steve has no idea how long it's been, because time has apparently stopped moving forward since he'd broken his watch.

It isn't fair, and Steve is going to kill Danny for risking his life so foolishly. If Danny…no, _when_…Danny wakes up, Steve is going to drill home the point that Danny doesn't go off on his own, that he remains where Steve and the others can see him at all times. No matter what. Danny is too important to him, to everyone.

'_Ah, hate to break it to you partner, but you're the kettle, and I'm the pot,'_ Danny's voice snarks in his head, and Steve wants to punch the damn clock, because that second hand is clearly stuck on the twelve, and Danny is still not awake.

'_It doesn't feel good when the shoe's on the other foot, does it?' _Danny's voice adds more fuel to the fire, and Steve wonders why he's hearing so many clichés from his mind's version of Danny.

'You're not indestructible, Danno_,'_ Steve snarks right back, wondering if having a mental conversation with someone who's not there is a sign that he's crazy.

'_And, neither, Steven, are you,'_ Danny's voice sounds heated, and Steve can picture the man's finger jabbing into his chest, can almost feel the sharp stabs.

A doctor steps into the private waiting room and eyes the four occupants warily. "Steven McGarrett?"

Steve stands, he's a good foot taller than the doctor who takes a step back, and swallows nervously.

"How's Danny? How's my partner?" Steve takes a step toward the doctor, ignoring the small squeak that the man makes, as well as the hand that Chin places on his arm.

"He's awake," the doctor says, after a moment's pause, "and he's asking for you."

Steve pushes his way past the doctor, who steps aside just in time to avoid being shoved into the wall. Steve hears Chin, Kono and Max apologizing to the doctor, but he doesn't slow down until he's standing outside of the curtain where Danny's been housed since he'd been brought into the emergency room.

Danny's been through a battery of tests and a CAT scan, ruling out bleeding in the brain, and any permanent brain damage. Now that he's awake, Steve can only assume that he's undergone another series of tests to determine the severity of his concussion. The fact that Danny has only been unconscious for a few hours, at most, works in his, and Steve's, favor.

Steve pulls the curtain aside with fingers that have gone numb. He can't even feel his feet, but they propel him forward until he's standing beside Danny's bed. Danny's eyes are closed, but they open as soon as Steve sits in the chair.

"Hey." Danny's voice is little more than a whisper. "You catch him?"

Steve isn't prepared for the intensity of his anger toward Danny, and he has to literally bite down on his tongue to keep from shouting at him. He knows by Danny's quiet tone, the lack of overhead lights, and the way that the man's eyes crinkle around the edges that he's got a headache – probably a migraine.

"Yes," Steve manages to say in a shaky voice. "I caught him."

"Good," Danny says. His smile is a shadow of what it normally is, and he closes his eyes.

"They give you anything for the pain yet?" Steve asks, concern momentarily overriding his anger.

Danny gives a small shake of his head. "Can't. Not yet. They're still waiting on one of the tests to make sure that if they give me something, I won't go into a coma."

The small, dry chuckle that accompanies Danny's words sends Steve over the edge. Before he knows what he's doing, he's standing, holding onto the metal railing that separates Danny from him so hard that his knuckles are white, and the railing shakes beneath his hands.

"Damn it, Danny," Steve keeps his voice low, but he doesn't hold back any of his anger. "What you did today was stupid, and you could have died. It isn't funny."

Danny cracks an eye open and frowns up at Steve. Some of Steve's anger must register, because Danny opens both of his eyes as wide as he can. The wince of pain, though it is almost imperceptible, that Danny makes causes Steve's heart to lurch, but his anger doesn't abate. If anything, the wince that Danny tries to hide from him increases his anger toward his partner.

"Danny, I almost lost you today, and…" Steve can't finish his thought, because he's afraid to, he's afraid, and Steve doesn't _do _afraid.

"Don't you understand?" Steve asks, his voice husky with the intensity of his feelings, "I could've lost you, lost us...lost myself."

He releases his right hand from its death grip around the metal railing, and reaches over to lightly place two fingers on Danny's bandaged brow.

"Without you, I'm incomplete," Steve whispers the last words, his eyes sheened with unshed tears that make it difficult for him to see Danny in the dim lighting.

Danny stares up at him and reaches for Steve's other hand, swallowing before speaking, "Well, now you know how I feel every time I see you running off after some semi-automatic toting perp, or jumping off of roofs without checking what might be there to catch you." He pauses, his eyes dark rimmed and tired, but fierce in their focus as he stares up at his partner. "I'm incomplete without you, too, Steven."

Steve briefly closes his eyes before managing to respond to the raw expression of Danny's fears. "Fair enough, Danno," he concedes. "We are each responsible for something more than ourselves, and we should each agree to be more careful in the future. Agreed?"

He looks down at Danny's face and feels weak and helpless at the onslaught of love pouring through his body. He loves Danny more than he loves himself, and it makes him ache to see Danny hurt.

"Agreed," Danny whispers as he loses the battle to keep his open.

Steve leans down, places a kiss on Danny's cheek, and whispers, "I'm going to hold you to that promise."

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><p>Please review, the latest review kick-started the writing of this chapter.<p> 


	40. Chameleon

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N**: Inspired by Common Kings', "Wade in Your Water." I highly recommend listening to this song. It's lovely, and will give you the geography of the North Shore beaches, and all with figurative language.

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><p>From his perch at the edge of the beach, Danny watches the ocean. Watches the blue water, turquoise closest to shore, build and swell as it nears his feet. It swirls with the sand that it kicks up. Turns into white foam, flipping and churning, before it spills over his feet, drawing him further into its swollen depths as it pulls the sand from beneath him.<p>

It's a dizzying sensation, and, lost in the rhythm of the push-pull of the ocean, Danny closes his eyes, lets it mesmerize and calm him. Steve's like this –bucolic, powerful, soothing – push-pulling Danny ever closer to his center, swallowing him whole.

Danny shivers, lets Steve, wet from his swim in the ocean, wrap his arms around him, and tug him out into the waters, cool in spite of the heat of the sun high overhead. Steve's warmth belies his hour long swim, and Danny presses closer to Steve, seeking the heat that radiates from his partner. Seems to Danny that Steve always runs a little hot, rather like an overtaxed furnace, and he – the ying to Steve's yang – always runs a little cold.

It's the push-pull of their relationship, like the ocean's water with its sand, ever moving and sifting, rejuvenating.

Steve makes him feel like a new man. Loved. Cared for… caressed.

"Cold, Danny?" Steve's voice, low and husky makes Danny's skin tingle. The man's lips, wet and warm, brushing against the shell of his ear elicit more shivers, and Danny nods, pulling Steve closer, trying to siphon off some of Steve's heat.

Steve chuckles. "Chameleon," he chastises, pulling Danny along in a kiss that steals his breath and makes the world spin away until there's nothing left but Steve and him and the roaring cadence of the ocean's waters crashing to shore.

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><p>Enjoy? Leave a review, let me know. Mahalo<p> 


	41. There-ness

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter

**A/N:** Inspired by the song, "Endless Love," sung by Diana Ross and Lionel Richie

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><p>It's not that Steve doesn't want to tell Danny about how he feels; it's just that he can't find the right words to describe what it is that he feels for the man who's captured him body, soul, heart and mind. There's too much emotion, and not enough words.<p>

And, it's that fear – that he won't be able to tell Danny how much it is that he loves him until it's too late – which is keeping him awake long after the vestiges of the nightmare which woke him, have died down.

Give him a bomb to defuse, or a hand grenade to jump on, or give him the ocean with its vast, endless expanse of water and ask him to swim from one shore to another. He knows what to do, how to keep his legs from cramping up, and how not to let the never changing scenery get to him, drag him under the water's surface and drown him.

Give him words, though, and he's a landlubber trying to gain his sea legs, and failing miserably. Perpetually bent over the gunwale – losing his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"Steven," Danny's voice floats in the space between them. The man flops onto his side, shifting the bed sheets, stealing them, and Steve can feel Danny's eyes on him, even though he can't see his partner in the darkness. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing, Danny, go back to sleep." Steve tries to shift away from his partner, and almost ends up on the floor for his efforts.

Snorting and sighing, Danny catches Steve by the arm, and pulls him away from the edge. He presses Steve's back against his chest and Steve can feel Danny breathing. It's even, secure, and Steve closes his eyes, allowing himself to get lost in the steady rhythm that is Danny.

His rock.

His anchor.

The man who's able to pull him back from whatever ledge it is that he's teetering on when no one else can reach him.

"Wanna talk about it?" Danny's voice is whisper soft, and Steve shakes his head. He wraps his hand around Danny's arms and tries to press even closer to his lover.

"No, Danny, I just want to go back to sleep," Steve says around a yawn.

He closes his eyes, and the rest of his nightmare – Danny's face waxen and lax in death, eyes open and unseeing, Steve running and getting nowhere, too late to save his partner – vanishes.

Danny nods, and kisses the back of his neck. "Sleep," he whispers, "I've got you."

And, that, Danny's _there-ness,_ is just one other reason why Steve can't find the right words to tell Danny just how much it is that he loves him.

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><p>Reviews fuel the muse. If you have a song suggestion, or an arc idea, please PM (if you'd like).<p> 


	42. Alone - A Smile for Steve

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by, Heart's, "Alone." I wanted to write something short, sweet and simple. Happy Aloha Friday.

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><p>Steve watches Danny play in the sand with Grace. It's amazing to him how carefree his partner looks while in the presence of his daughter, even while keeping an eye out for danger.<p>

The smile, tugging at the corner of Danny's lips, comes a little easier when Grace is around, and Steve wonders what it'll take for him to have that kind of relationship with Danny. How, he'll get the man to smile so easily when it's just the two of them, and Steve's got Danny all to himself, without Grace.

When Steve has Danny alone, later that night, fingers trailing lightly over a dusting of hair across Danny's chest, he presses a kiss to the corner of Danny's mouth, feels the slight tug of a smile, and his heart skips a beat.

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><p>Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated - even for drabbles. Maybe, especially for drabbles.<p> 


	43. Tangled up in You

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by the song, "Tangled up in You," by Staind. Written as inspired.

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><p>Danny's not-quite smile is the first thing that registers in Steve's muddled thoughts. It's not the first thing that he sees – Danny's eyes, brilliantly bright blue, stormy and pained – but it's the first thing that he notices. The first – the only – thing that matters in the midst of everything else.<p>

The way Danny's lips quirk upward, the skin around them taut, is what tells Steve that Danny isn't yet done with him, that the man hasn't quit him, even though Steve's gone back on his word (for about the zillionth time since they've become partners, the millionth since they've become lovers) again.

By all rights, Danny should leave him, but, he doesn't. Instead, his hand, roughened by hard work – the hands of a man who takes the world by the horns, and doesn't let up – anchors Steve's fumbling, bandaged hand.

It could have been worse, almost was. If Chin hadn't been there, Steve would be dead. He knows this, swallows hard when Danny's hand squeezes his, and the man's smile wavers.

Steve can see that Danny's itching to say something. The corners of his mouth twitch, his lips pale just slightly, even as a blush darkens his cheeks. The storm brewing in his eyes thickens, but Danny holds his tongue, and that's when Steve knows just how close he'd really come to dying. It makes his heart drop, not because he almost died, but because, he almost lost more time with Danny.

"I'm sorry."

The words are inadequate, but he can't take them back.

Danny nods.

"I know."

Danny squeezes his hand. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Steve nods, closes his eyes, and, only when he feels the soft pressure of Danny's lips against his own, does he let go of the breath that he'd been holding since he woke up, and he drifts off to sleep.

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><p>Reviews would be lovely, and greatly appreciated.<p> 


	44. Ohana

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

**A/N: **Inspired by the song, "Summer Wind," Emmy Rossum – from the album, Sentimental Journey. Beautiful, inspiring song. This one spiraled out of control. It started out as a drabble about summer in Hawaii, and became a two-thousand plus one-shot about ohana.

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><p>Danny watches Steve from the safety of the shade on the lanai. It's one of those beautiful days. The kind where Danny can see why Hawaii earned its nickname of Paradise – white, fluffy clouds beset in a baby blue sky, the ocean lapping at the shore's edge with gentle waves, palm tree fronds swaying lazily in the breeze.<p>

The sound of Grace's laughter drifts from the water's edge to where Danny is sitting on a lounge chair – resting as per doctor's orders. His knee is wrapped, and he's got a bag of ice resting on top of it, a bottle of beer dangling from the tips of his fingers.

Danny's more relaxed than he's been in a long time, and he knows that he has his team – Kono and Chin, just as much as Steve – to thank for that. There was a time, there, lying in an impersonal hospital bed, recovering from injuries sustained during a foot chase, when Danny had feared he'd lose everything that mattered most to him – Grace, Steve, his livelihood.

But, the team had come round him, refused to give up on him when he'd done his damnedest to push them all away because he hadn't wanted to let them in. He'd been in too much pain, and hadn't wanted to let them see him at his weakest. He'd had his pride to hold onto, and had thought that his pride was all that he'd had left.

There'd been talk of amputation if the infection, at the site of the surgery, couldn't be controlled. It had been a devastating, life-changing event in his life. If Danny couldn't walk, he couldn't work, and if he couldn't work, he couldn't provide for his little girl, and if he couldn't provide for his little girl, what use was he to anyone?

_Ohana._ It was one of those strange sounding Hawaiian words that Danny'd learned from watching a Disney movie with his daughter. Until recently, it had been just a byword to him. Unimportant, and without meaning, because it hadn't really touched his life. Ohana had been a foreign word without definition to Danny.

Danny had gotten into the habit of smiling whenever Chin or Kono or even Steven had used the word and included him in the use of it, but it had never really impacted his heart, even when Steven had said that Danny and Grace were the only true ohana that he had left in the world. It wasn't a word that moved him. Not like family – Christmases in Jersey spent gathered 'round the Christmas tree while snow, clean and white, fell outside; watching baseball games with a countless number of cousins, their noses pressed to the television set; reunions in the city park with uncles and aunts Danny couldn't even name…

Until recent events, when the concept of ohana was tested in ways that 'family' had never been tested in Danny's life, it hadn't been a real word to him. It had been nothing more than a cartoon word used by a cartoon kid for an inane audience lulled by artfully sketched palm trees that implied tropical breezes.

Now, though, Danny gets it. Steve, Grace, Chin and Kono, hell, even Kamekona, are ohana. Ohana isn't just family; it's more than that. Ohana had seen Danny through hell and it was well on its way to seeing him to the other side of it.

Grace lets loose a shrill scream that makes the hairs on Danny's arms stand up. Danny, heart pounding, sits up abruptly, eyes scanning the beach for his little girl. His knee throbs when he jostles the injury as he attempts to get up out of the lounge chair.

He curses when the bottle of beer – the first one that he's been allowed to have in too many months to count – gets stuck in the chair, hindering his movements before it's finally jarred from his fingers. The bottle rolls away, spreading the remainder of its dark amber contents over the concrete. Danny can't seem to get his body to function properly in his panic, and perhaps that's for the best, because not even a half a second later, the ear-splitting scream has become a peal of laughter.

Danny shakes his head, and presses his hand to his heart, chastising himself for getting so worked up over nothing – his just fears of the ocean and what its depths hold, notwithstanding, Danny knows that he can trust Steve. He settles back against the lounge chair, not yet ready to relax, because, while he trusts Steven with his little girl, Danny is still very much an overprotective, Jersey father.

_You can take a fish out of the water_…Danny thinks, and he fumbles blindly for another bottle of beer in the cooler beside him, twisting the top off and tossing it into the pail that Steven had left on the lanai for trash. Taking a deep breath, he plucks the dispelled bag of ice from the ground where it had fallen. There's a small puddle of water mingling with the darker stain of beer. Danny plunks the ice back into position on his aching knee, and sighs as it eases some of the pain.

When Grace's laughter turns into a loud squeal of half-sincere protests, Danny allows himself to relax a little more. He cups a hand over his eyes and watches Steve toss Grace high into the air. He bodily follows the elegant arch that his daughter makes as she flies through the air. Heart in his throat, Danny holds his breath.

Danny tells himself that he trusts Steve, the man's a Navy SEAL for goodness' sake, the man practically lives in the water, and Grace is safe with him. She lands in the ocean, several feet from where Steve is standing. There's a spectacular shower of water when Grace lands, and Steve dives beneath the waves, his head popping up beside a sputtering Grace whose head breaks through the surface mere seconds before Steve's does.

Both of them are sniggering now, and Danny can't help but smile. Tension bleeds from his shoulders and he sags back against the chair.

Steve's deep, rich laughter rings out loud and clear, carrying across the ocean to Danny. It's a perfect counterpart to Grace's light, trilling laughter. It's something that Danny hasn't heard before – Steven and his Gracie laughing together, two carefree souls at play in the ocean.

It brings to mind the spinner dolphins that Steven had pointed out to him on that very beach not long after Danny had first met the man. He'd been mesmerized by them at the time – their slender, sleek bodies dancing across the ocean waves like ballerinas. Their playful chitters had reminded Danny of giggles back then.

Steve pulls Grace into a hug and tickles her as she begs him to let her fly again. He says something in response, but it's too low for Danny to hear. Danny allows himself to relax, takes a sip of his beer, and closes his eyes, knowing that Steven won't let anything bad happen to Grace, and he tries not to picture tiger sharks lurking beneath the glinting surface of the waters.

Some indeterminable amount of time later, Danny is startled awake when a dark shadow blocks out the sun that had been just on the other side of his closed eyelids, giving him cheerful dreams of spending a warm day in the sun and sand with Steve.

They weren't building sandcastles, or burying each other in the sand, but had been entertaining themselves in other ways where sand got into places that it shouldn't, as it always did whenever one spent any time at the beach. The warmth that had seeped down through Danny's skin, to his very bones, hadn't been from the kiss of the sun across Danny's tanned skin alone.

Something cold and wet drips on him, and Danny frowns as he wipes away the last vestiges of the dream from his eyes – _Steve's lips, warm and papery like sand, lingering over his_ – to find a smiling, and sopping wet Steve standing over him, holding an equally wet Grace directly over her father. Both of them are shaking with suppressed laughter when Danny wipes at the salty water that's been unrepentantly dripped on his chest, and glowers at them.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Steve says.

Grace giggles at Steve's words, and wriggles loose from his arms when he leans down and brushes a kiss over a still scowling Danny's lips. It isn't at all like the dream kiss that Danny had been rudely wakened from, but as far as kisses go, it'll do. It isn't a prolonged kiss, because Grace is there, watching, and, though she knows about Danny and Steve being 'boyfriends,' they don't want to push things too far or too fast with her.

Grace wrinkles her nose up with the same amount of disgust she reserves for when she's witnessing her mother and Step-Stan kissing. She doesn't understand what the big deal about kissing is right now, and Danny doesn't want to disabuse her of the notion that kissing is something undesirable, no matter who is doing the kissing.

All too soon, she'll be of the mindset that kissing is a good, even desirable, thing, and then it'll be Danny wrinkling up his nose, and Steven will have to be around to hold him in check, maybe even hold him back.

"C'mre, monkey," Danny says, reaching out for his little girl who allows him to pull her to his side and he gives her the sloppiest wettest kiss that he can.

"Ew, Dad! You're gross," Grace says as she wipes it off and gives her father a look that has heretofore been reserved for cockroaches and maggots.

"That _was_ gross, Danny," Steve agrees, and Danny beckons him closer.

Steve eyes him warily, but he leans closer, and, when he's within reach, Danny lays the biggest, wettest, soppiest kiss on the man that he can. While Steve stares at him, flabbergasted, mouth opening and closing as speech fails to come to him, Danny pulls his daughter onto his lap, and proceeds to tickle her and pepper her with wet raspberries.

When Steve finally regains his composure, he helps Grace launch a counterattack against her father, and the three of them are soon nothing more than a laughing, wet, sandy pile of tangled arms and legs. The three of them are so engrossed in their play that they are unaware of the presence of the rest of their ohana until after Kono has snapped off several blackmail photos on her cellphone, one of which will end up becoming their family Christmas photo in a few short months.

It's Kono's fit of giggles, accompanied by Chin's melodic laughter, and Kamekona's loud guffaws, which finally alerts Danny to the fact that they are not alone, and he immediately sobers up. Steve and Grace follow him as soon as their own senses catch up with them.

Steve swallows and blushes as he looks away from the rest of his team. The look of panic that he shoots Danny is almost comical, but Danny takes pity on his partner, and snags Steve's hand before the man can tuck it away into the pockets of his board shorts. Danny rubs his thumb across Steve's knuckles, because he knows that it helps to calm the man, and he kisses the inside of Steve's wrist, feeling the man's pulse racing.

"Quite the dog pile you had going on there bosses," Kono says, when she manages to stop laughing and finally catches her breath.

She wipes at her eyes, and then proceeds to pluck up the bags of groceries she'd had the time to place on the lanai, before snapping photos. She heads to the kitchen, with Grace following close at her heels. She's already asking Kono if she got any pictures. Danny and Steve groan simultaneously when Kono assures Grace that she'd taken choke photos of them.

Chin, after quirking his eyebrow at Steve and Danny, plops himself into the chair beside Danny, and pops open a beer. Danny pulls Steven onto his lap, unsettling the man, and causing him to make an unmanly sounding yelp. He glares at Danny, and settles beside him on the wide chair. Kamekona shakes his head at the three of them, muttering something about being surrounded by lolos, as he makes his way to the kitchen apparently the only place in the McGarrett-Williams' home where sanity reigns.

Danny pats his hair into place, and settles back against the lounge chair, as though he hadn't been caught cavorting like a little child mere moments ago, and clinks his beer against Chin's. His beer is lukewarm, and it tastes a little like Danny imagines elephant piss might taste like, but he gamely swallows it down and then sets the bottle on the ground. He's done with beer for the night.

The sound of friendly chatter and laughter floats in from the kitchen as Kono and Kamekona prepare Danny's welcome home dinner, with Grace acting as a sous chef of sorts, and no doubt going through the candid photos that Kono had managed to take on her phone before laughter had given her away. Steve settles back beside Danny, wrapping his arm around Danny's shoulders. Heat pours off the other man, in spite of the cool evening air, warming Danny.

Danny rests his head on Steve's chest, and twines their fingers together. He's missed this, being with his ohana. Usually, Steve, Chin and he would be right in the midst of it all, bumping elbows – Steve grilling burgers or steak or fish, Danny preparing the obligatory salad, though chips or fries were more his thing, and Chin whipping up some wicked side dish.

But this, kicking back with Steve, talking work and sports with Chin, is nice. This, Danny could get used to. Danny doesn't even realizes that he's fallen asleep until he's being jostled awake in time to be ushered into the dining room – Steve and Chin on either side of him so that he doesn't put any weight on his injured knee.

"Thanks," Danny says, biting back his usual pride to allow his ohana to take care of him.

Being practically carried into the dining room goes against everything that Danny's fought so hard for in his life, especially after his spoiled marriage to Rachel. He'd never wanted to depend on anyone for anything, ever again. Even now, after Steve's endless nights spent at the hospital, sleeping beside Danny even when the man railed against him, Danny finds it hard to receive this gift of love and care freely offered to him by the man he loves and another man who has become like an older brother to him.

"Don' mention it, brah," Chin says quietly, squeezing Danny's shoulder as he helps Steve lower Danny onto a dining room chair. "That's what ohana does for each other."

"Yeah, Jersey, now let's get to the grinds before they get cold," Kamekona says, clapping Danny on the back, before the tears pooling in Danny's eyes have a chance to fall.

Shaking his head, Danny surreptitiously brushes away the tears, and everyone purposefully ignores him as food is passed around the table, and conversation is carried on around him. Somehow, more food than Danny can eat, finds its way onto his plate, and, when he looks up to find the culprit, everyone looks away.

As he surveys the table, there's a part of Danny that wishes Kono hadn't put her phone away, because this, right here, is what saved his life – ohana. If it hadn't been for these five people, Danny knows that he wouldn't be sitting there, right now, with too much food piled on his plate, tears brimming in his eyes.

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><p><em>choke<em> = a lot

_lolo_ = not smart; in some cases, can be used like crazy

_grinds_ = food (ono grinds - good food)

_ohana_ = family (but, really, it's so much more than just family)

_brah_ = brother

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><p>Reviews would let me know if you enjoyed reading this, would like to have more of these kinds of stories, and are greatly appreciated. Much mahalos.<p> 


	45. Dancing in the Moonlight

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

**A/N:** I was in the middle of working on another story when the song, "Dancing in the Moonlight," from the 1973 King Harvest album, started playing, and my writing was suddenly hijacked by this muse. Toploader also has credits for this song...either way, this song inspired this little scene.

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><p>It's closing on midnight, and the small celebration party that Steve and Danny are hosting for the end of a particularly tough case is finally winding down. Kono and Chin are stifling yawns, and Danny thinks they're about ready to say their goodbyes. The hairs on the back of Danny's neck warn him that he's being watched, and he turns to find Steve staring at him.<p>

The man's standing at the edge of the ocean, swathed in the white light of the moon. It's in the third quarter, and Danny only knows this because Grace has a school project, and she's studying the phases of the moon.

Danny can't quite catalogue the look that Steve's lobbying in his direction, but it makes his stomach flutter, and he hopes that Chin and Kono can find their own way out, because he doubts that he can be a gracious, or particularly coherent, host right now.

Steve holds a hand to Danny out and wiggles his fingers. "Dance with me, Danno."

Danny frowns and crosses his arms over his chest, because it's late, and, even though they live in Hawaii, the evening is cold, particularly with the Trade Winds coming in off the ocean. Steve arches an eyebrow in challenge, and pouts.

"Please?"

In the end, it's a combination of the way that Steve's eyes widen, and the slight downward turn of his lips – a look that Danny's certain that Steve has learned from Grace – that causes Danny to capitulate, and he crosses the cool sand to Steve, takes the man's hand and is suddenly being pulled into a warm embrace.

When Steve kisses him, Danny doesn't even hear Chin and Kono take their leave over the roar of the ocean, and his heart. They dance in the moonlight, and Danny's lost in the rhythm that Steve sets. He doesn't particularly mind.

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><p>I hope that you liked this. Let me know.<p> 


	46. Desire

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by Meg Myers', "Desire". Word count is right at a hundred for this one.

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><p>"I've missed this." Steve traces the inside of Danny's thigh with a fingertip, lets it hover just shy of Danny's semi-flaccid cock.<p>

Danny flushes, and he bites his bottom lip. "Let's fuck." His voice is low and scratchy – a remnant of his sore throat.

"When you're ready." Steve lets his leaking cock brush against Danny's in lieu of a promise.

"I'm ready now," Danny protests.

Steve places a finger on Danny's parted lips. Heat, from Danny's fever, lingers. It had left him weak as a kitten for the better part of a week. Steve pulls back.

"There's no rush, babe."

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><p>As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and do make a difference.<p> 


	47. Inner Glow

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by, Blue October, "Inner Glow". This one is a bit angsty.

Thanks for song suggestions, emilyroleplay1 - I will look into them, and see what they inspire.

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><p>Sometimes Danny feels like Steve's two different people. There's the man that he can access, and, then there's the one that he can't. His very own Jekyll and Hyde – two for the price of one.<p>

The one who's shut off from Danny – shuttered eyes, closed-off face, hands hard as a rock, and just as desperate for the intimacy of touch, though they give nothing to Danny in return – makes his heart ache, and long for _his _Steve.

Those nights, Danny gives Steve what he wants. Doesn't ask. Doesn't make demands. Doesn't talk about anything that matters. Natters on about inanities. Pretends that it doesn't hurt when Steve leaves before dawn – his side of the bed empty and cold, leaving Danny feeling lost and alone.

_That_ Steve is a bundle of mysteries wrapped up behind a wall of secrecy, and the words: _Sorry, Danny, that's classified_. Not even a _Danno _to ease the impact of the blow.

And, then there's the one who's open, vulnerable – fuck me eyes, lips that leave Danny speechless, and hands, work-roughened, but gentle, and eager to please, they offer Danny the world in an oyster's shell.

It's _this _Steve that Danny loves most, and yet, Danny knows that, without the one, he wouldn't have the other, and, as far as compromises goes, there's no contest, because, without Steve, he's got nothing.

Danny will take the bad with the good, if it means that he can wake up, most mornings, with Steve's warm body pressed tightly to his, spooning him from behind, arm flung protectively across Danny's chest, knee wedged between Danny's.

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><p>As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and very encouraging to me.<p> 


	48. Addicted to Love

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N: **Inspired by, "Addicted to Love," Florence + The Machine. Thanks, emilyroleplay1, for the song recommendation.

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><p>Steve wakes suddenly, and, at first, he's not sure what's woken him – the curtains are billowing in the breeze coming off the ocean, the house is quiet.<p>

But then it hits him, with jarring force– Danny's missing – and his heart races; beating double-time.

"Danny?" he whispers, fingers searching his partner's side of the bed.

It's cool, the sheets smooth, and ghosted with just a trace of Danny's scent, like the man hadn't even come to bed that night. Sitting, Steve scrubs at his face, rubs his eyes, trying to clear the cobwebs from his sleep-addled mind.

Throat dry, tongue thick and cottony, palms itchy, stomach queasy, Steve flicks on the bedside lamp, casts his gaze around the room, into the shadows and corners. Danny's not there and it feels like he's been kicked in the gut.

"Danny?" Steve drops his legs over the side of the bed, clambers to his feet, hand placed against the wall for additional support.

He tries to remember what had happened earlier that night, why Danny wouldn't be in their bed at just after two in the morning, but his mind comes up a blank.

_Drinking._ He remembers drinking, and laughing, and Kono, with her hands all over Danny, a spike of jealousy, and making an ass out of himself, accusing Danny and Kono of having an affair… _shit._

Steve stumbles out of the room, tripping over his own feet in his haste as he remembers, with cold alacrity, what he'd said, and how he'd fucked up. He careens into the wall, and pushes off of it, nearly does a header down the stairs.

There's Danny, splayed out on the couch, limbs dangling off the edge, mouth slightly open, a blanket tucked haphazardly around his hips, hair disheveled – he's a beautiful mess.

_Fuck. _It hits Steve like a ton of bricks_. _Danny's a drug. Steve an addict. Steve's breath catches in his throat as he drinks in the sight of Danny, swathed in a pool of light from the moon.

Kono's on the floor, blanket tucked around her slim shoulders, Danny's pillow beneath her head. Chin's within arm's reach of his cousin, equally dead to the world as the other two, slumbering after a night of heavy drinking.

Heart thudding in his chest, Steve carefully wends his way through the living room, not wanting to disturb the sleeping occupants. It's almost like walking through a minefield, except, here, the only bomb he has to worry about setting off is his partner, who has every right to blast into him.

Uncertain how best to proceed, Steve finishes his approach from behind the couch, climbs up over the back of it, and wedges himself carefully between his still sleeping partner and the cushions. It's a tight fit, and Danny barely stirs.

Steve holds his breath when Danny's brow furrows and he mutters something incoherent in his sleep. Steve sinks back into the cushions, making room for himself, remembering the first time that he and Danny had made love, on this very couch, and chastising himself for thinking about that at a time like this.

"Steve?" Danny's voice is soft and confused, like he's speaking in a dream. He's not awake, but he turns, and Steve, fearing that Danny's going to fall off the couch when the blanket refuses to accommodate the movement, pulls him in close.

Danny sighs, and tucks his head beneath Steve's chin, his warm breath caressing Steve's collarbone with every exhale. Danny wraps his arms and legs around Steve, and clings to him like a koala to a eucalyptus tree.

"Sorry, Danno," Steve whispers, knowing that Danny can't hear him, but needing to say the words for his own peace of mind.

"I love you." Steve kisses Danny's forehead, his heart settling into a more sedate pace as Danny's breathing evens out. Closing his eyes, Steve knows that he's got a lot of apologizing to do in the morning, but, for now, with Danny, safe in his arms, he's content, and sleep comes quickly.

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><p>Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thanks.<p> 


	49. Killer Robot Steve

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** My writing (for another story) was hijacked by music. This strange little addition to this series was inspired by, "Harlem Shake," by DJ and producer, Baauer (Jeffree's and Mad Decent, May 22nd, 2012). (I was listening to the original one, not any of the meme versions - so much fun, love the uptempo).

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><p>Danny's heart's beating rapidly. It's out of his control, and he feels like he's on some kind of drug, except he hasn't taken anything. Hell, he hasn't eaten or drank anything in the last twenty-four hours – his captors have seen to that.<p>

They've stripped him of almost every vestige of humanity, down to his boxers, leaving him in a cool puddle of rancid water that he can't drink, because it's acidic, and it makes his stomach twist, his skin writhe, like there are hundreds of tiny snakes beneath the surface, burrowing, burrowing into him.

Music's bouncing off the walls of his cage, bleeding in his ears, drowning out the sound of his voice, even the one that sounds an awful lot like Steve inside of his head. He can't think straight, can't talk. His tongue's too thick, and uncooperative. He can't even hear the questions that his tormentors are asking him. Faceless, their lips move, and it sounds like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon. It makes him laugh, and a fist plows into his stomach, pushes the air out of him.

They beat him, sealing their fate, their deaths at Steve's hands, with every sucker punch, and kick they deliver. The paper thin cuts left by knives so sharp that it feels like nothing's happened until it's over and his captors are rubbing salt into the wounds, make Danny feel like he's on fire.

He's feverish, and confused, and he's got no idea where he is, who has him, just knows, deep in his gut that Steve's coming for him. That Steve will find him.

That Steve, super SEAL, will not hesitate to kill those who've hurt him. His heart slows a little at that thought, and it gives him comfort, though Danny thinks that maybe he shouldn't be so over-the-top happy that he's got a boyfriend who will kill for him. His lips, rubbery, stretch into a lopsided grin, and a hard fist that splits his lip reminds him that he's got nothing to smile about.

Danny lies in his small pool of water, shivers in the cold, wonders if this is what it's like to die, if his partner, Grace, had felt this self-same peace before her life had been taken from her. Like a shadow in the night…which is an odd sort of simile to make, but Danny's not in his right mind, and Steve looks like a shadow – dark against the backdrop of the moon, the lights that bathe the compound Danny's being held in, in a faint, white glow.

He's a ninja warrior, Steve, and Danny watches the man at work. Watches as Steve dispatches each of Danny's tormentors, taking them down, one-by-one. He's a machine. A robot. Quick. Efficient. Emotionless.

It's over before Danny's eyes close, and he loses the fight to remain awake, and alert, giving Steve a reason to continue his assault of the compound. A reason to kill.

Steve's there, by his side, lifting him out of the water that burns his skin like acid. Danny forces his eyes open, looks at Steve, and smiles even though it makes his split lip bleed, blood, warm and salty, trickling down his throat, tickling its way down his chin.

No longer in killer-robot mode, Steve is flesh and blood, warmth and understanding. Steve's lips are live electric wires that ground him, and Danny, in spite of the pain, kisses back, reassures Steve, and himself, that he's alive, hopes, even as he loses consciousness, that Steve will be there when he wakes, whether in hospital or their bed.

"I've got you," Steve reassures him, and Danny lets go.

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><p>Please review, keeps me writing. Without reviews, I think that no one is interested in reading anything more for this series. Thanks.<p> 


	50. Remembering

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N**: Aftermath of what was hinted at in the previous installment, because that is where the muses led me with this song: "FLY," by Common Kings, which can be found on YouTube.

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><p>Steve doesn't often sit and contemplate his life. He's a man of action. Always has been, from the time he took his first faltering steps – according to his mother.<p>

But, he sits, staring out at the ocean, nursing a warm beer, and watches the waves.

It's winter, or what passes for winter on the islands – temperatures in the low seventies. The time of year when those who are accustomed to the typical eighty degree weather wear sweaters or jackets.

Steve sits, bare to the waist, and shivers. The sun's sitting low in the sky. Ready to set.

The waves that draw the surfers have moved on up to the North Shore, and Steve's watching the smaller waves that grace his beachfront this time of year lap at the sand.

It's calming, and, right now, that's what Steve needs.

The calm after the storm.

_Forty-eight hours. _

That's how long Danny was gone.

Though, to hear Danny talk, it was just a day.

He'd lost twenty-four hours to a drug-induced amnesia.

To Steve, it had felt like a lifetime. A lifetime spent trying to remember the feel of Danny's skin beneath his fingertips, the sound of Danny's voice, gravelly and sleep-slurred, after a good fuck.

_Forty-eight endless hours_.

"What're you thinking?" Danny drops down next to him, and Steve doesn't miss the wince, the soft hiss of air, that Danny tries to hide from him as his busted ribs are jarred by the movement.

He tries not to wince himself. Takes a deep breath and resists the urge to draw Danny to himself, or to go back and kill the men who'd taken and damaged Danny – bruise-littered skin, broken ribs, busted lip, black eye, paper-thin cuts – all over again.

"Nothing," Steve's answer is honest, and he reaches for Danny's hand.

It's warm.

Calloused.

Worn from years of hard work.

Hands that are strong and capable.

Steve lifts Danny's hand to his lips, kisses the inside of Danny's palm, and lets out the breath that he's been holding since he first learned that Danny'd been taken.

"I'm fine," Danny reassures him, knowing what it is that Steve can't say, refuses to think.

He cups Steve's face with his hands, the warmth of them making Steve tremble.

And, there's a part of Steve that fears that this, Danny sitting beside him in the sand as the waves lick at the shore, is an apparition.

A figment of his imagination.

That, he's somehow failed at the most important thing in his life – keeping Danny safe – and now he's being haunted.

"Promise," Danny says, pulling Steve's face toward his. "I'm fine, Steven."

Steve loses himself in those eyes, blue as the ocean. Blinks, and they're still there, dancing like the waves.

Danny's hands on his face are gentle reminders that Steve got there in time.

Steve's eyes fall to Danny's lips, crusted with dried blood, and his stomach clenches with anger – boiling hot. Lava churning in his gut.

Danny's lips, chapped, sore from the beatings, scratch across Steve's, like sandpaper. His tongue, hot and sweet as a fresh malasada on a Sunday morning, makes Steve forget what it is that he hadn't been thinking about.

"Steven," Danny's voice is husky, soft as a prayer.

"What, Danny?" Steve would move heaven and earth for this man.

"Let's fuck."

Closing his eyes, Steve nods, and, afraid to let go, he holds Danny, listens to the waves lapping at the shore, loses himself in the moment, lets his hands and fingers, his tongue, his body, work at remembering Danny all over again.

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><p>Again, reviews let me know if people are still digging this particular series, or if I should cash in the chips. Mahalos<p> 


	51. JustDo It

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by reviews, though, well, this didn't get into the nitty gritty act, it continues with the same arc of the last couple of snippets. There is no song inspiration for this one.

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><p>Making love on the beach sounds much more romantic than it actually is. Sand gets in certain nooks and crannies of your body, works its way into crevices that it really doesn't belong in, and in general, makes your life, after sex, a living hell that takes weeks to recover from. But, that's the last thing on Danny's mind.<p>

Actually, it's not even on Danny's mind at all, which is why he practically begs Steve to take him right there, while the sun's still lingering – a golden orb, painting the sky in pastel pinks and fiery oranges – water lapping gently on the shore where Steve's been brooding for the past half an hour.

Danny's ribs are giving him some trouble, telling him that fucking, at all, let alone on the beach, is not such a good idea.

They hurt.

He hurts.

He acknowledges the pain, gives it its rightful due, and pushes it aside in favor of tending to Steven's unseen hurts.

Steve needs him, needs to know that Danny's alive, even if he is a little worse for the wear.

Danny still isn't sure what happened to him, who took him, or why. It's all jumbled up in his head, and he doesn't think that he'll ever be able to make heads or tails of it, and, oddly enough, that's okay.

"Steven," Danny lets the name fall easily from his lips, his voice cracking as his need takes over. "Please."

He doesn't even know why he's begging, what he's begging for, but Steve seems to understand, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of Danny's board shorts - a long ago gift from Kono, they're comfortable and worn - to come to rest on the soft mound of Danny's ass.

His ass is just about the only part of Danny's body that his captors hadn't touched, which is more than fine with him. There isn't a single bruise anywhere below his waist. He's grateful for that, and almost laughs when he thinks about how absurd it is to be thankful that the people who'd taken and beaten him, almost to death, hadn't been interested in what he had to offer them, as far as punishment went, below his waist.

Steve holds his breath, his index finger stills, pausing where it rests, nestled between Danny's ass cheeks, as though asking for permission to go further, to dip and delve into territory that they've definitely been to before.

Impatient – it's been days that feel like years, since he and Steve have done anything, other than tend to Danny's more obvious aches and pains, and Danny's body is itching to be touched, to be fucked, by Steve – Danny presses close, shoves at Steve's board shorts, pushes them down past his hips, revealing that his partner's more than ready for this, pre-cum leaking from the head of an impressive-looking, and what must almost be a painfully hard, cock.

"Danny," Steve says his name like it's a supplication, his lips warm against the back of Danny's neck as he ruts against Danny's thigh.

"Steve," Danny's breathless, he's never wanted anything more than he's wanted this, right here, right now. "I need this. You need this. Stop over-analyzing everything, and just...fuck me."

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><p>Like? LMK, thnx<p> 


	52. Masochist

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by a the word, masochist, in a review - perhaps I should explore all three definitions of the word in this? (Thanks Afrieal)

**A Definition: **

**mas·och·ism** (ms-kzm) _n._

**1. **The deriving of sexual gratification, or the tendency to derive sexual gratification, from being physically or emotionally abused.

**2. **The deriving of pleasure, or the tendency to derive pleasure, from being humiliated or mistreated, either by another or by oneself.

**3. **A willingness or tendency to subject oneself to unpleasant or trying experiences.

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><p>"Damn it, Danny," Steve hisses, slapping Danny's hand away, and yet trying to draw them closer, place them where he wants them. "What, are you a masochist now?"<p>

Danny pulls his hands away, sits back on his heels and glares at his partner. Steve's cheeks are flush, and his pupils are blown wide. On his hands and knees, he's looking at Danny over his shoulder, and Danny has never been more turned on than he is now.

It's not a question of whether or not Steve wants this, too, because, he does. Danny can see it in the way that Steve's muscles quiver, the way that his eyes follow the movements of Danny's fingers as they touch, and the way the man's holding his breath, as though afraid that if he breathes too hard this will all vanish.

"Really, Steven." Danny shakes his head, skims a hand down Steve's back - slick with sweat, muscles so tense Danny could string a bow with them. "From where I'm sitting, you're the masochist, teasing me, and not putting out."

Steve swallows, his blush deepens, and Danny loves this - having Steve, on his knees, panting, and wanting, but not begging. At least not yet.

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><p>Reviews would be awesome, and appreciated (as always - lets me know if this is still of interest - not trying to drum up reviews per-se, but rather a temperature check, to see if this is something that needs to be continued...if you know what I mean)<p>

Works Cited:

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published byHoughton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.


	53. All Right Now

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by the song, "All Right Now," by Free; not sure exactly how this song inspired what I wrote, but, it did. As always, I went with the flow of what came, and this is what I got. It's similar to a previous drabble. Hopefully there'll be a part two to wrap this up as Danny takes care of an injured Steve.

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><p>From behind a black sedan, Danny covers Steve as he makes his way across the parking lot – weaving between cars, crouched low, out of range of the sniper that's got Five-0 in his cross-hairs.<p>

The sniper's a nasty piece of work, has taken out five good HPD officers in the past five weeks, and he's set his sights on Five-0.

Steve's all lean muscle, and raw, masculine power, like a lion, except, instead of prowling the savannahs of Africa, he's snaking his way through a jungle of pavement. Even in the midst of imminent danger, Steve is confident, certain that, no matter the odds, he'll prevail. Danny can see it in his partner's eyes, the man's sure steps as he searches for their enemy.

Danny almost believes it, too. Almost believes that Steve's as invincible as he appears to be. That the man is bullet-proof, and that, even when he falls – knees buckling, torso twisting with the impact of a bullet ripping through his shoulder, mouth open in a silent O of astonishment – that it's going to be alright.

_It's okay,_ Danny tells himself, blood seeping through the gaps between his fingers, pressed tightly to Steve's wounded shoulder. _It's alright. Steve's not dying. He's not. It's not like last time. His chest is moving. He's fine. It's fine. I'm fine.  
><em>

Steve lifts a hand - the one that isn't attached to the shoulder with a quarter-sized hole in it - voice still not working, and he points, his eyes willing Danny to understand, and on some level, he does, even though Steve's blood is hot and sticky on his fingers, and he'd rather be sitting on Steve's lanai, sharing a sweating beer as they talk story, or maybe lying in Steve's hammock, making out, or fucking in the shallows just off the beach.

Swallowing, Danny acts, eyes following Steve's arm, the finger pointing to a spot just beyond them. Fingers slick-red with Steve's blood, heart in his throat, Danny takes aim and fires, lets the gun clatter to the pavement almost before the report of the gunshot dies out.

"You got him," Steve says, pride ringing in a voice almost too weak to hear. His hand drops beside him, and sighing, he closes his eyes.

"Steve, come on, babe." Danny's hands are shaking, fingers stiff and uncooperative as he places them on the still bleeding wound, his sole focus on keeping the blood from flowing so freely from the neat hole that the sniper's bullet made in his partner's shoulder.

"Steve, babe, open your eyes." Dizzy, Danny closes his eyes, to keep the sky from spinning, and rests his forehead against Steve's. It's cold, and Danny's mind simply stops, gets stuck on replaying Steve getting shot over and over again. The funny way that his body had twisted as he fell, like a puppet whose strings had gotten tangled up in the puppeteer's machinations.

"Danny, you can let go now." Chin's fingers dig into his shoulder; wrench him away from Steve, anchor him to a reality that Danny wishes he could blink away. Steve's blood is so red that it makes Danny want to vomit.

"Let go, Danny. It's okay, now, the paramedics are here."

Danny lets go, but it's not okay.

Not alright.

His hands are covered with Steve's blood, the knees of his jeans are soaked in it, and he knows that he'll never be able to get them clean again, no matter how many times he scrubs them.

And suddenly, he's thrust back in time, to another gunshot wound, on a bright sunny day, and Steve's dead, almost dying, and Danny can't do this again.

He can't.

He won't.

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><p>An odd one...not sure how I feel about it.<p> 


	54. Before I Let You Go

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** This carries on from the last drabble, hopefully allaying fears and confusion. Inspired by the Blackstreet song, "Before I Let You Go." (great song, I recommend it)

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><p>Danny leans over the hospital bed, mindful of the IVs, and the leads hooked to McGarrett's chest, monitoring his partner's vitals. He's out of the woods, medically speaking, the angry shoulder wound wrapped in white gauze, keeping it hidden in plain sight.<p>

Danny's heart leaps to his throat, and he swallows it down, trying to gather his wits about himself, knowing that he's got to do this, before he loses the nerve, before Steve wakes up.

He licks his lips, closes his eyes, and brushes his lips over Steve's. They're surprisingly warm, and Danny's eyes, beneath the lids, are surprisingly itchy.

He grips the bedrail tightly in both hands; the metal cool and impartial doesn't give. He wants it to break beneath his touch, snap in two, and ease some of the pain in his chest. It's hard to breathe, and when he does, Danny's overwhelmed by the antiseptic smells associated with hospitals.

Too many hospital rooms, too many moments like this– with him bent over Steve, trying not to breathe too deeply.

"Goodbye, Steven," Danny whispers, and he gives Steve one last kiss, because he can't leave, can't let Steve go without doing this first.

"Danny?" Steve's lips move beneath Danny's, startling him, and Danny mutters out a soundless curse at being caught in saying his last goodbye.

"Danno? You alright?" Steve's voice is scratchy, and without substance, and yet it drags Danny away from the ledge that he's been standing precariously on, and he exchanges his grip on the metal rail for Steve's hand, squeezing, and finding it warm.

"I don't want to lose you." The words are out of Danny's mouth, before he even knows that he's been thinking them.

Fact is, Danny's been living and breathing those words for the past week while he's waited for Steve to wake – surgery, complications, and infection had kept his partner dead to the world, muttering dark thoughts from fever-dreams.

Fact is, Danny had feared that he'd lose Steve before he had a chance to say goodbye to the man, and, when he'd learned that Steve was going to make it, he'd planned to say goodbye, before the man woke.

Danny wanted to let Steve go on his own terms – before a bullet or a bomb could do it for him – and slip away, back to Jersey, back to his family, back to where the world was a much, much simpler place, and he wasn't in love with a Navy SEAL who seemed hell-bent on taking on the entire criminal world, heedless of the possible damage that it could do to himself, and to Danny.

Steve's lips turn downward, and Danny feels the man's fingers twitch in his grip. The heart monitor betrays Steve's increasingly panicked state as it picks up his rapid heartbeat, going from a restful state to something quicker in a matter of several carefully held breaths.

"Didn't lose me, Danno," Steve says, his voice low and husky, and_ hurt_.

"Almost did, partner," Danny's voice cracks, and the bedrail that he's still gripping in one hand creaks beneath his weight as he struggles to stay standing.

"Not gonna lose me," Steve's voice is adamant, though it's barely above a whisper, and his grip is stronger than it should be, grounding Danny, keeping him from doing the thing that he'd come in here to do – leave.

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><p>As always, reviews are greatly welcomed and appreciated and let me know to continue.<p> 


	55. Dem Jeans

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter. (Still no ownership, and no profit, other than in reviews...if those can be considered profit - they are nice though)

**A/N:** Inspired by, "Dem Jeans," by Chingy - it was on my playlist, and this is what happened...

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><p>Steve likes to watch Danny dance. He likes the way his partner moves across the dance floor, the subtle sway of his hips, and the way that he shakes his ass.<p>

Steve likes the too-tight fit of the jeans that Danny wears, and how they showcase an ass that Steve knows intimately.

He likes that Danny's a tease, the way that he brushes up against him, and lets Steve cup his ass and… _rub_.

Steve likes the bulge at the front of Danny's jeans, how it twitches when he arches an eyebrow, or grazes it with the palm of his hand.

Steve watches Danny dance, biding his time, letting the man blow off some steam, as Danny bumps and grinds his way across the dance floor, others touching and pawing at him.

He watches and takes note of the men and women who touch, attempt to taste his man, and he stakes his claim on Danny, knowing that, at the end of the night, it's in _his_ bed – with his tongue, his dick, and his ass – that Danny's going to lose those jeans, and come undone.

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><p>As always, reviews are appreciated.<p> 


	56. Fireworks

**Disclaimer:** see initial chapter.

**A/N:** Written to the discordant cacophony of neighborhood fireworks, which are going on past midnight. It is just the beginning of 2014 here, and I wanted to add something to this fic. Enjoy.

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><p>Danny closes his eyes, leans back in the lawn chair, and smiles. The air is filled with the scent of smoke, from the barbecue, from local fireworks, and he can still smell the lingering traces of pineapple – the garnish for the grilled chicken Steve had made for their small New Year's celebration.<p>

Another neighbor's firework goes off, incredibly close – Danny can see the bright, white light, even through his closed lids. Danny tries not to tense, tries not to go through a thousand different scenarios about how quickly a fire can start from a single spark that his father had drilled into him and his siblings every holiday where fireworks were the norm.

"Hey, Danny," Steve's voice is soft as a whisper, mouth close to Danny's ear, the warmth from his breath spreading from Danny's ear, all the way down to his toes in a shiver.

Steve grips Danny's shoulder, and Danny places his hand over his lover's, opening his eyes. Steve's crouching beside him, and he licks his lips, leaning close. His eyes are dark, intense, and shining with something that Danny can't quite pin down, and isn't sure that he wants to, because he still wants a little mystery in their romance.

Steve's scent – the ocean when the breeze hits it just right – overpowers that of the smoke, and the pineapple, and when their lips touch, Danny sees fireworks. Red and green, white sparks that ignite something deep within his gut, and he threads his fingers through Steve's too-short hair, pulls the man closer, breathing him in, closing his eyes to the sparks, and seeing them anyway.

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><p>Hau'oli Makahiki Hou! (Happy New Year)<p>

Reviews are always appreciated. Mahalo


	57. Waterlogged

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Originally written in a journal on November 26th, 2011; typed out, edited and added to on January 1, 2014. Experimentation with form, and punctuation, as well as personification of the ocean. Confusion is intentional, as I'm trying to place the reader in Danny's head (hopefully this works).

A longer piece, because someone asked, and because it worked. This is not carrying on from the previous drabble, and is a one-shot.

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><p>Sometimes nightmares come true. At other times, it is reality which becomes a nightmare. And, still, at other times, nightmares are inspired by experience.<p>

Take this particular nightmare.

It's broad daylight. The sky is clear, save for a few scudding clouds that form various shapes in the sky. A cloud water's, or shaper's, delight.

He's lying on the beach, digging his toes into the gritty sand, sifting handfuls of the wet stuff through his fingers.

And he's crying.

Waves are crashing onto the shore, against his thighs, push-pulling him, tugging him loose, in spite of the hold that his toes and fingers have in the sand.

And then he's drifting out to see, water filling his lungs as he's pulled under.

His throat is on fire, and his eyes sting, and he's drowning.

His arms and legs – laden and numb – refuse to work.

He thinks, _Thank god, it's only a nightmare. _Because it has to be a nightmare, there isn't another option.

Except, it isn't.

This has happened before, time and time again.

The drowning.

Salty seawater streams in through his nose and mouth, fills his lungs, chokes him.

Danny tries not to do it – breathe in the briny water.

Tells himself to hold his breath.

But as the waves continue their assault, he's pulled further away from the safety of the shore. The clouds smile down at him, their seemingly benign nature impervious to what is happening to him.

The ocean pulls him under, pounds him into the ocean floor, twists and turns him so that he's disoriented and no longer knows which way is up.

It is then that he begins to truly drown.

Danny can see the sun through the water – a bright, yellow thing – but he can't feel its warmth as the icy tendrils of the ocean worm their way in through his mouth and nose.

The water burns his throat, burns him, but not like the sun. The burn is ice cold, like swallowing dry ice, and then, too quickly, it's over.

There is no darkness.

Just the ever-present light of the sun, as though seen through a milky film. He can't feel the warmth of the sun, and, though it should scare him, his mind's too sluggish, and he can't muster the strength to care.

He's surrounded by water – the smooth, moving liquid satin of his coffin – and can hear nothing, but the whoosh of the water as the ocean continues on its merry way.

_This,_ Danny thinks ruefully, _is far from the paradise of Sponge Bob's world._

For one thing, there's no pineapple. And then there's no Patrick Star standing around in board shorts, a dumb smile on his lips. Does Patrick Star have lips?

He blinks, to rid his eyes of the stinging water.

His vision grows blurry, the salt pickling his eyes. Danny wonders if human eyes are a delicacy for fish. If Sandy the Squirrel maybe has an extra tank of oxygen and an underwater suit that he can borrow before it's too late, though, it's already too late.

He's just in denial.

Not wanting to die.

Not wanting to become fish food.

Water moves in and out of his lungs, through his nose and mouth.

He's a fish, a merman – arms and legs uncooperative.

His fingers dig into the cold, clumpy sand, and he watches through eyes that burn, as the sand falls free, small, golden granules dancing in the current as the wave pulls away from the shore.

His eyes are open.

They never close in death.

And then Danny wakes, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. He can sense that it wants to escape, if only so that it, too, doesn't have to drown with him, over and over again.

He struggles to help set it free, because the pounding of it is so painful, pressing against and damaging his ribs, splintering them, making it difficult for him to breathe. He needs to set it free before it breaks him.

_Nightmare, only a nightmare,_ he reassures himself.

He doesn't know if he's spoken those words aloud, because he can't hear anything over the roar of the ocean, or the rush of blood from his frantic heart.

He tries to wake himself up from the nightmare, but he can't, and the ocean's push-pulling him back again, drowning him with her damning beauty. Shoving her tongue of water into his mouth, past his teeth, down his throat. He can't breathe.

She's working her way into his lungs, and he wants to ask her how she does it. No one's tongue can twist and fork like that. No one's tongue is that long.

He swallows, coughs, sputters. His lungs are burning. His chest's on fire, and the pain of it blinds him.

_Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe, _he thinks, and then the sun's overhead, not warming him, clouds obscured by the curtain of water between him and the ocean's surface.

He is Sponge Bob; except he doesn't really like pineapple, but he'll make do, because he has to.

He exhales a lungful of water, and feels empty.

Waves pound overhead, thunder in his ears as he takes another breath, inhaling briny water.

The ocean is a cold-hearted bitch. Seaweed winds itself around his legs, his arms, and his chest, secures him in place, at the bottom of the ocean, to be tortured by an insane mistress that Danny never wanted anything to do with in the first place. The ocean's hell-bent on possessing every inhabitable inch of his body, making Danny her bitch, her boy-toy, to do with as she pleases.

He's swallowing, if possible, even more of the water, filling his stomach, his lungs, with the cool, salty water.

It does not sate him.

The ocean cannot satisfy him, but she's not after that.

She's only interested in hurting him. Making him ache, and burn.

Making him lose himself.

He tries to expel the water, turns his head, opens his mouth, but more water streams in, none of it out.

It hurts.

The pain's unbearable.

He's had too much, and thinks that now he'll pass out.

Now, he'll die, and the torture will stop.

But it doesn't.

The sun shines above his watery prison, making him shiver with its icy abandonment.

The ocean is cruel in her torment, in her desire to possess that which was never hers in the first place, because Danny's Steve's. Has been from the moment they met, and the ocean cannot have him, not in the way that she wants him.

She slams her fist into his chest, over and over again, slaps him with the open palm of a cold, hard hand that makes his cheek sting.

And suddenly, he's awake, but he doesn't want to be, because waking will make it start all over again, and he's almost certain that, this time, he was just about to die.

The light's too bright, hurting Danny's eyes, making them sting with tears. He's cold, and hot, and his lungs ache like he's run a marathon. His arms and legs are too heavy, and the ocean looks an awful lot like Kono, dark hair framed around her tanned face.

"Danny? Danny, can you hear me?" the ocean sounds a lot like Kono too, and the clouds, the whole entire sky, starts to spin.

"Danny, shit, Danny."

Another sharp stinging slap to the face makes Danny open his eyes.

"Stay awake," the Kono-shaped ocean says.

"Go 'way," Danny mutters, feeling water, warmed, dribbling down his chin. It tastes awful, like copper and blood.

"Danny, I'm not going to go away, you need to stay awake. Help's on the way."

The ocean's being awfully kind, like Kono would be if all of this was real. If she wasn't trying to torture him for all of eternity.

"Steve!" the ocean calls, and pushes to her feet, runs away from Danny.

He's cold. It's hard to breathe, and the ocean has left him to go to Steve.

_Figures_, Danny snorts, _that the ocean would prefer a Navy SEAL to a pathetic, I-only-swim-for-survival-not-for-fun detective._

"Danny?"

It's Steve, the ocean, bearing Kono's face, hair tangled about her shoulders like tendrils of seaweed, in thick clumps and spotted with sand, hovers over Steve's shoulder.

"Danno, you're gonna be okay, Kono pulled you out in time," Steve says, and his hand feels too hot in Danny's lax grip.

Steve's kneeling beside him, knees digging deep into the dirt, his face contorted and wet.

"Danno, please," Steve's voice cracks, and he squeezes Danny's hand, and his eyes are as deep as the ocean, green as the sea glass necklace that Danny had bought as a gift for Grace at the North Shore Country Market in Hale'iwa this past September.

"Please don't leave me."

Steve's hand is hot in Danny's, and his lips, his lips are hot as the sun should have been when it spurned him. Steve's lips bring life to him as they chase away the icy cold fingers of the ocean, making her slip away into the background.

No longer drowning, Danny closes his eyes, and rests.

Days later, Danny wakes, panicked, drowning again, only to find that Steve, not the ocean, is sitting beside him, holding his hand.

"Just a nightmare, Danno," Steve says, his voice soft, reassuring.

Danny swallows, doesn't feel the burn of salt at the back of his throat, and smiles when Steve kisses him.

Steve tells him, again, what happened. How a criminal they were pursuing had hit Danny in the back of the head with a shovel –the shovel he'd been using to dig a shallow grave for the latest of five woman that he'd killed – and then dragged Danny into the ocean, held his head under until he'd thought he'd killed Danny, and then walked away.

Tells Danny how Kono had first discovered Danny and worked, frantically, to revive him. How Steve ran after their quarry, chased him down, and beat him until Chin pulled him off and arrested the man.

"Danny," Steve says, breathless from another life-affirming kiss. "I love you."

Danny blinks at Steve, and shakes his head. "Come here, you goof, and prove it."

He tugs at Steve's hand, and pulls him close, already missing the warmth of Steve's lips against his own, the way that the feel of them anchors him in the present, and remind him that he's no longer drowning.

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><p>Reviews are golden nuggets of joy, metaphorically speaking.<p> 


	58. S'mores

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Written in October of last year (in a journal, transcribed this year), inspired by true events; i.e. I actually roasted marshmallows over my gas stove...well, more like burnt, I like burnt marshmallows, but I think Steve would like his perfectly browned, and Grace would follow suit. It was sixty-three degrees this morning; it's seventy-three now. Downright chilly. Brr...

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><p>Danny knows the dangers of fire. He grew up hearing all about fire, and how to be careful around it.<p>

So, he's more than aware that what he's witnessing mid-Sunday morning, in Steve McGarrett's meticulously clean kitchen, is nothing short of a fire waiting to happen.

He can almost smell the smoke of burning curtains, and then the wood as the walls quickly catch fire. The entire house is burned down, and nothing more than a smoldering pile of blackened ash by the time Danny shakes himself from the horrible daydream, and into reality.

Grace is giggling like she's sharing a deep secret with Steve. Their heads are bent together – thick as thieves – over the gas stove. The blue flames cast playful shadows on Grace's rosy cheeks, and Steve's morning stubble.

They're both holding sticks with fat, browning marshmallows tacked on at the end. There's a plate with two sets of graham crackers, and squares of chocolate, waiting on the counter.

Danny quietly pulls his phone out of his pocket, and snaps a quick photo. A moment to remember – Grace, and Steve making s'mores over an open flame on a gas stove on a lazy winter afternoon.

Even if the temperature rarely drops below a mild, mid-seventies, winter means bigger waves in Waikiki, calmer waves along the North Shore, and Grace and Steve making s'mores in the kitchen while Danny watches.

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><p>Just a short, picture-like snapshot this time around as I work on something a little longer.<p> 


	59. Tangled up in Sheets

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter. Don't own them. Making no money for writing this.

**A/N:** This idea popped into my head just as I was about ready to sleep. It was written on the ColorNote app on my phone, and 'edited' on my laptop. No inspirational song, just the initial sentence that popped into my head as inspiration. This is not the 'longer' piece that I indicated I was working on in my previous drabble, that one kind of fizzled out, but, perhaps the inspiration for that one will return. Thank you for reading.

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><p>It's moments like these – Danny half-sprawled across him, legs caught up in tangled sheets, smelling of sex and sweat – that Steve likes best.<p>

The times when he can stop thinking, absentmindedly comb his fingers through Danny's hair, and kiss, or fuck, or just lie together and breathe.

No case to think about. No perpetrators to hunt down, or interrogate - not that he doesn't like a good interrogation every now and again, just to get the adrenaline pumping, and the sex afterwards, well...

"Alright, McGarrett, what's with the face?" Danny's propped up on an elbow, an eyebrow raised, his lips slightly down-turned.

Steve blinks, and frowns.

"What face?" he asks, trying, but failing, to maintain a stern look. "I don't have a face."

And it sounds ridiculous, because, of course he has a face...everyone has a face. It's just, Steve's not used to having his face so easily read all the damn time by his now smug-looking partner.

It's the knowing glint in Danny's eyes that seals the detective's fate. Because, Steve doesn't play nice, and he'll be the first to admit that he's a sore loser, so it only stands to reason that he, for Danny's sake, as much as his own, has to 'win' this.

It's with that in mind – keeping Danny safe from seeing sore-loser Steve, because that is not a pretty sight – that Steve changes frown to smirk, and, using a move he learned early on in his SEAL training – not-so-secretly delighting in the unmanly little grunt of surprise that issues from somewhere in the back of Danny's throat –Steve has managed to flip a stark naked Danny onto the bedroom floor, and is straddling the smaller man's hips.

Danny's breathless, panting, and his pupils are blown so wide that Steve can barely see a trace of blue in them. Danny's heart is a rabbiting tattoo in his chest that Steve can feel thrumming through his own veins. It does something visceral to Steve, makes him growl low in his throat, stake a claim on Danny with his teeth, biting Danny's shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise, but not to break the skin.

Steve's got Danny's wrists in one hand, pinned to the floor above Danny's head, marveling at how they fit in his grip, how Danny's chest heaves with his half-hearted effort to buck Steve off of him.

Danny twists a little, the slickness of sweat from the warmth of the evening, and from their earlier round of love-making, gives Danny some movement in his wrists, and he nearly slips free, but Steve tightens his grip, slightly jerking Danny's wrists, eliciting a sound from Danny that goes straight to Steve's dick, and he reassesses his earlier claim.

Because it's this moment – Danny wriggling and writhing beneath him, slick with sweat, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and slightly parted, cock fully alert and pressing into Steve's stomach – that Steve likes best.

The -here-and-now-take-it-or-leave-it-because-_this-is-it-_moment – Danny, naked, vulnerable, and so turned on that his skin is hot to the touch, and he's grinning, daring, begging Steve to take him.

Steve knows that Danny probably has a name for the look that he's certain is on his face right now, but, as he dips his head, tasting, licking, sampling Danny's mouth, chest, neck, whatever title Danny would have given it is lost in an impressive string of sounds that Steve thinks were meant to be words. Except they come out as an incoherent babble that ends on a grunt, with Danny surging up to meet Steve's mouth.

After Steve's had his way with Danny, and they're back in bed, Danny half-sprawled across Steve, tangled up in sheets that will have to be changed come morning, Steve asks, "So, what face was that, Danno?"

Danny, blissed out, a small smile playing at his lips, shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and punches Steve in the arm. It isn't an answer, and Steve doubts that he'll get one, but, for now, it's sufficient.

Steve amends his thoughts from earlier, because this – Danny, speechless, eyes heavy-lidded and a fucked-to-hell-and-back curl to his lips, cheeks a rosy-red – _this_ is what he likes best.

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><p>As always, reviews often inspire me, and are much valued.<p> 


	60. Enough

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by Florence + The Machine's – "Kiss With A Fist". Happy Valentine's Day.

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><p>They don't fight.<p>

Not with fists, that is.

Words, though, are a different story.

Those get tossed around, lobbed overhead like grenades, pins pulled well before they're launched.

And then they fuck – like teenagers hopped up on hormones. Anger and heated words slip-sliding between them, like grease on a monkey wrench, slipping loose from fingers lubed and fumbling to fit nuts to bolts. Skin hot and slick; hearts pounding like mad.

It's not quite fireworks, the resulting explosion, and Danny isn't sure that it's particularly healthy. The fiery words that sizzle and pop between them like live sparklers, sting.

And it's like he's sticking his fingers into a light socket over and over again, electricity coursing through his veins. Except that he can't get enough of it – the sudden _jerk-shock-oh-shit_ feeling that jolts his heart also makes him feel alive.

And Danny knows that Steve's never more turned on than when he's got Danny all riled up, spitting words like bullets from a gun that Steve's handed him the ammunition for, and yet he gives into it. _Every. Damn. Time._

There're no fists.

No broken bones.

No telling bruises.

There're only words, and that's enough.


	61. Sometimes it Snows in Hawaii

**Disclaimer: **See initial drabble.

**A/N:** This non-drabble was written for densidoodle, who wrote the following in a review: "A good read on a snowy morning. Socked in by a blizzard. They DO get snow in Hawaii on the mountain tops you know. Just a thought. We all know how much Steve LOVES camping..."

Current, and successful, attempt at writing this was inspired by, The Neighbourhood's, "Sweater Weather." (Discovered on YouTube by chance).

**Word Count:** 10,206 words; cotton_candy bingo square – "I" becomes "We"

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><p>The first thing that Danny notices when he wakes is the cold. It's unusual, waking to this kind of cold in Hawaii. It reminds him of home, of Jersey. It's disorienting, and jarring, and Danny fights to open his eyes.<p>

He shivers, rolls over, and groans as his hip encounters a sharp rock. The sleeping bag does little to make the floor of the tent that he's sleeping on comfortable, and he knows that he'll have a sore back when he finally does get up to face the day.

It's dark, and he has no idea what time it is. It's eerily quiet, and Danny distinctly remembers falling asleep to the disconcerting sound of howling wind, and Steve reassuring him that it wasn't from an impending storm, that it was normal on the top of a mountain.

"Go back to sleep, Danny," Steve mumbles. Eyes closed; lips barely moving.

Steve's hand flaps around on the ground between them until it finds Danny, and then the still half-asleep man pats Danny's face. Danny pushes Steve's hand away from his face, snags the man's fingers in his own, and tugs, trying to regain some of the warmth that he lost during the course of the night.

Danny would love nothing more than to go back to sleep, but his bladder is full, and it's cold, and he and Steve must've rolled apart in their sleep, because he's no longer lying right next to Danny, sharing body heat that had bordered on almost too hot when they'd gone to sleep.

Now, there's not enough heat, and Danny has to pee, and the still-sleeping Steve is being stubbornly immoveable. No amount of tugging on Steve's outstretched arm is drawing the man any closer, and the rock is digging painfully into Danny's hip, stealing his breath, making him see stars.

Danny rubs at his face, trying to push away the vestiges of sleep, and he shifts away from the rock, further from Steve, letting go of the hold he's got on his partner's fingers. It feels like the temperature's dropped to something bordering on below zero, and Danny pulls the sleeping bag around his shoulders.

There's a rock digging into his left ass cheek, and Danny scowls into the darkness as he tries to find a section of the ground that's relatively rock free. He doesn't like camping, had _told_ Steve that, but the man's puppy dog eyes (so much like Grace's…and how's that even fucking possible, the two aren't related?) had been Danny's undoing.

When Steve had turned those powerful eyes on him, lips downturned slightly in a sad, I'm-trying-not-to-frown look, Danny had caved. Had agreed to a weekend of camping, on the Big Island, with Steve. His, 'Yes,' barely dying on his lips before Steve had captured them in a toe-curling kiss that had left Danny weak-kneed, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

Danny yawns, feels his breath hanging in the air before him for a few seconds bordering on forever as he blinks in the darkness of the tent. It's so quiet outside of the tent that he can hear Steve breathing beside him. The man's quiet intake of breath, the way it whistles, slightly, through his lips when he breathes out. It's normal, and yet there's something off, and Danny wishes that he could put his finger on what it is that's bothering him. Other than the cold.

He has to pee, but he doesn't want to move. Recalls too many mornings like this when he was a kid, and his mom had woken him for school. Just the thought of his bare feet touching the cold, wooden floor, had made him turn his back on his mother, pull his pillow over his head, and fight for just a few more minutes of sleep, and warmth.

In the end, he'd have to wake, face the freezing floors, feet flying across them to the bathroom, as though speed would somehow take away some of the cold that seeped into the soles of his feet, shocking him awake. He'd tiptoe across the tiled bathroom floor, and then, after taking care of his most immediate need, he'd rush back to his bedroom, pull on thick winter socks.

He's got no winter socks here, though. It's Hawaii. It's not supposed to be _this_ cold, top of the tallest (measuring from the floor of the Pacific Ocean) mountain in the world, and on an island, or not. The websites that he'd looked at had promised temperatures of seventy to eighty degrees, nothing lower than sixty, but it's got to be at least fifty degrees, maybe less, right now.

Danny had been prepared to see red, molten lava and dark clouds filled with volcanic ash. He'd been prepared for cooler nights than he'd grown used to since he'd followed his daughter to the island of O'ahu. He'd packed a jacket, and had worn jeans.

Now, Danny wishes that he had the cream-colored cable knit sweater that his Nana had knitted for him several years ago. The one that he'd given to Mattie just before he'd moved away. He wonders what his younger brother did with the sweater, if Mattie's got it tucked away in a dresser, or if he'd brought it with him when he'd come to visit Danny before trying to run away from the mess that he'd gotten himself into.

Danny casts another look in Steve's direction, and though it's dark, he can make out the shape of his partner. Steve's chest is rising and falling, evenly, and there's no indication that he's aware of the drop in temperature. He's dead to the world, and Danny smiles, because, usually Steve's a light sleeper, and, in Danny's estimation, he doesn't get enough sleep on any given night.

In spite of how uncomfortable and cold he is Danny's happy to see Steve so at ease. Loosening his hold on the top edge of his sleeping bag, Danny frees a hand, and reaches across the cold space between them, rubs his thumb along Steve's un-furrowed brow, marvels at how peaceful Steve looks when he's asleep.

Danny sucks in a breath when Steve's forehead suddenly creases beneath the pad of his thumb. Steve frowns, smacks his lips, and then rolls over, and Danny breathes again, happy that, in spite of how cold and ill-at-ease _he_ is, Steve can sleep. That the man feels comfortable enough, with Danny at his side, to let his guard down enough to rest.

Danny rests his hand on the back of Steve's head, marvels at how soft the man's hair is, and that he has the privilege of running his fingers through it, and – god willing – will have that pleasure for the rest of his life.

The cold, seeping in through the bottom of the tent and the worn sleeping bag, to his ass, his legs, all the way up through the core of his body, causes Danny to shift, reminds him that he has to pee, but he doesn't want to leave the tent, or Steve's warmth, even though, for the time being, he's bereft of it, because there's too much space between them – a little less than a foot. Too much space and it's too cold for Hawaii, and Danny _really_ has to pee, and he's so tired, but he can't sleep.

Danny scrubs a hand over his face, lets the top of the sleeping bag fall down past his shoulders, pool in his lap. He's got to move, to get up and pull on the hiking boots that Steve had insisted he bring. He's half tempted to leave the tent barefooted, in spite of the cold and the sharp rocks, cooled lava, which might cut his feet.

"Suck it up," Danny whispers, and he recalls the cold, winter mornings when he'd walked barefoot onto the snow-dusted porch to retrieve the morning newspaper, and how he'd return to the bed that he and Rachel shared, warming his feet between the sheets. How Rachel would hiss out a curse when his cold feet touched her warm skin, and roll away from him, denying him the warmth that he sought. Danny wonders if Steve would do the same. If, when Danny returns to the tent, seeking out Steve's warmth, the man would push him away.

Danny shakes his head, and focuses on the here and now. On the fact that he has to pee, and it's cold, and his boots are just on the other side of the tent flap, hidden beneath the vestibule of Steve's fancy tent.

There are no snakes, no critters that Danny needs to worry about hiding themselves in his boots. He's just met with the task of getting himself out of his sleeping bag, making it across the small space to the front of the tent, and then shoving his boots onto his feet.

Danny takes a deep breath, and then he shoves out of the sleeping bag, pulling his legs and feet out of its relative warmth, exposing his bare legs to the cold air, wishing that he hadn't changed into shorts for sleeping. He's got sweats, but they're in the duffel on the other side of Steve, and Danny doesn't want to wake him.

Besides, it shouldn't take him that long to find the area designated for taking care of such needs, and to relieve himself, and return to the tent. He'd have already been there and back had he not taken forever to decide to move.

Danny launches himself across the floor, holds his breath as he unzips the tent, hoping that the sound, though it's a barely there whisper, won't wake Steve. He scrambles out of the tent, and zips it up behind him, his fingers trembling in the much cooler air.

It's not until he's tugging the boots onto his feet that he realizes just how cold it is. There's a full moon out, and Danny's grateful, because he forgot to grab the flashlight in his haste to escape the close confines of the tent.

Yet another reason he doesn't like camping – cramped quarters. It hadn't been too bad when he'd gone to sleep; Steve lying next to him, facing him. Looking into Steve's eyes had helped to keep the nylon walls from closing in.

Shivering in earnest, Danny's fingers fumble with the laces of his boots, and he foregoes tying them in favor of making his trek across the moonlit expanse that much quicker. His bladder is painfully full, and Danny's not sure if he can make it the few yards that he needs to, and he chastises himself for not moving quicker after he'd first woken.

But he's never been a very quick thinker in the middle of the night. Even when Grace was just a baby and it was his turn to take care of her. He'd stumble from bed, careen into a wall or two, and wouldn't fully be awake until she'd been fed, changed, and rocked back to sleep. Danny spent the bulk of those early days, when Grace was a newborn, sleepwalking his way through caring for his baby girl. It was a wonder that he hadn't dropped her.

When Danny finally does manage to make his way past the tent's vestibule, he simply stops breathing for a few heartbeats, and is momentarily struck dumb with awe. He stands still, dimly aware of the moon and the stars shining up above – they seem close enough to touch this high up, and it's breathtaking. Even more breathtaking than that, though, is the completely unexpected whiteness that surrounds him as the light of the moon cuts a sliver sparkling path across a frozen, winter wonderland.

Snow. It's unbelievable, and Danny's breath catches in his throat. Dressed in nothing more than a pair of ratty shorts, a threadbare tee-shirt and untied boots, he's shivering, but it doesn't matter. It's beautiful, and he wishes that Steve was awake to enjoy this moment with him.

There's snow as far as he can see, and not much else. It should be alarming, because, for the time being, he's trapped, on top of a volcano and there's no way down from the summit until the snow's cleared.

Just yesterday, he and Steve were traipsing across a valley of hardened lava, sweating in what must've been hundred-degree weather, and now he's completely surrounded by snow, which accounts for the eerie quiet that seems to have descended upon the mountain.

Danny's bladder pulls him from his thoughts, begs for relief, and he shuffles forward on feet that have grown unused to walking on snow. It's more than a foot, maybe even two, deep. His boots sink into the snow, and the icy substance sneaks its way inside, past the lip and tongue of the boots, down to his bare feet, giving him goose bumps.

Now that he's out past the entrance of the tent, turned around facing it, Danny can see that it's covered in snow, which should've insulated the tent and made it warm, rather than cold. He doesn't waste time wondering why he was cold when he shouldn't have been, though he thinks that going from watching the lava flow and being baked by the sun to the height of the mountain, where the air is thinner and cooler, all in the same day might've had something to do with that.

He wastes no time relieving himself when he reaches the area that Steve had shown him earlier, and then he trudges back, following the path that he forged through the snow on his way from the tent. He staggers, nearly falls face first into the snow, but quickly regains his balance.

He's only been living in Hawaii for three, almost four years, and he's already forgotten how to walk in snow. It's unnerving, and Danny wishes that Grace could be here with Steve and him, that his little girl could build a snowman, maybe go sledding like she used to when she was younger. Or maybe they'd build a snow fort, or have a snowball fight, or just lie in the snow and make snow angels. There'd be hot cocoa with marshmallows for Grace, and two piping hot cups of coffee waiting for Danny and Steve when they were done.

Danny brushes aside a stray tear, and stubbornly squares his jaw, his hands fisting at his sides. He draws in a shaky breath, holds it, and watches it fog out of his mouth when he sets it free.

He misses home, misses his Mom and Pop, his sisters. He misses snow that isn't preceded by hundred-degree weather, and deadly rivers of molten lava. He misses winter, and sweaters, and plodding through knee-high snowdrifts, shoveling snow at midnight, scraping just enough frost from his windshield so that he can see out of it to drive at a snail's pace along icy streets, and running across freezing cold floors in his bare feet.

"Danny?"

Steve's voice startles him, and Danny looks up, hadn't realized that he'd been looking down at his feet, at the silvery-white snow surrounding them. When he looks up at Steve, he realizes that he's grinning like a madman – cheeks stretched so wide they're aching.

He can't help it, though. It's been years since he's seen snow in anything other than pictures, and even though he's having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he's standing on top of the largest mountain in the world, and that just a few hours ago he'd been baking in the sun, earning himself a painful sunburn in spite of the liberal amounts of sun block he'd applied to his skin, he's happy in a way that he hasn't been in a really long time – relationship with Steve aside.

"What's –" Steve's voice cracks, his mouth hanging open on his half-formed question.

He gives Danny a wide-eyed look as he spins around in front of the tent. His boots are likewise untied, and he stumbles his way toward Danny. Unlike Danny, Steve had slept shirtless, and he's shivering, arms wrapped around himself by the time that Danny, spurred by Steve's lurching movements, meets him halfway.

Danny can't help but laugh at the picture that Steve makes – hair unkempt, eyes wide and filled with an almost childlike wonder, mouth opening and closing as he tries to understand what it is that he's seeing. Danny pulls Steve to himself, marveling at how cold Steve is as he wraps his arms around him, lending what little warmth he has to the other man.

"What's going on?" Steve's voice is muffled because he's tucked his face against Danny's neck.

Danny chuckles quietly, rubs some warmth into Steve's bare back with the palm of his hand. "Don't tell me you've never seen snow before, Steven."

He loves the man, enough to die for him, but this – Steve completely flummoxed, and mouth agape because of a couple of feet of snow, and seeking solace in Danny's arms – is funny, and a little unsettling.

Apparently Steve McGarrett, super, kick-ass SEAL, is completely out of his element in the snow. It's a good thing that Danny Williams, up until he'd followed after Grace, had been somewhat of an expert on snow. It had been out of necessity, because snow hadn't been a rarity in the days leading up to his move to Hawaii.

Oh, Danny knows that Steve's been around snow before. Steve lived on the mainland when he was a teenager, has been in the mountains of Afghanistan (even if those missions were top secret and Steve hadn't been able to tell Danny anything about them, other than how long, cold and miserable the winters were), and well, he's Steve.

Danny doesn't think there's much that can make Steve ill-at-ease. At least he's not seen that happen to Steve outside of now, and when they've got cases where they have to work with young children. Besides Grace, now that he's used to her, Steve hasn't proven himself to be very good with children. Of course he's now got a brand new niece with whom to practice being an uncle, and working with kids in general.

Danny, on the other hand, has a whole slew of things which make him ill-at-ease: tight spaces, hiking, the ocean…it's a non-exhaustive list, and one that he's not particularly proud of. He's got areas of expertise, too. Some of which Steve knows nothing about, yet. Others that, god-willing, Steve will never learn of.

"It's so cold," Steve mumbles.

"Snow tends to be cold," Danny murmurs. "I thought you said that there was no snow in the forecast for this weekend." Danny keeps his voice light, devoid of any chastisement, knowing that Steve doesn't need that right now.

The man's shivering in earnest, and Danny, while no longer outright freezing now that he's fully awake, is doing little better than Steve. _The blind leading the blind,_ Danny thinks, and, after helping Steve relieve himself – shaky hands, mild curses muted by the cold – he moves them in the direction of the tent. There, they can get warmed up, because there's no way he, or Steve, is going to get hypothermia in Hawaii – snow or not. It's unconscionable.

Once he's managed to usher the both of them inside the tent, Danny wastes no time getting Steve ensconced in one of the sleeping bags. Steve's shivering so badly that his teeth are chattering, and unless Danny's mistaken, the man's lips have taken on a bluish tinge.

Danny rummages through their shared duffel, tosses Steve a pair of sweats that he knows will be too short for the man, because Steve hadn't brought any sweats of his own – he's got khakis and those are not going to be warm enough.

Danny isn't sure why he'd insisted on packing the sweats either – other than it had been fun to watch that vein on Steve's neck pop out when Danny had claimed that it was sleepwear, and hadn't backed down, returning them to the duffel every time Steve had taken them out. He's just glad that he'd been so persistent, even if it had been little more than a game at the time.

Danny searches for a suitable shirt for Steve, wishing again for that sweater that his Nana knitted him all those years ago. He hadn't cherished it nearly as much as he should have. He pulls out a pair of jeans for himself, socks for him and Steve, and tosses Steve a shirt, tugs one on over himself, and feels a little warmer already.

"You know, Danno, we really should uh…" Steve's not looking at Danny, his voice is softer than usual, and he clears his throat. "The…it's snowing, cold." Steve shivers. "And –"

Steve's got Danny's sweats balled up in his hands, and there's a blush burning beneath his too-white cheeks, making him look so damn vulnerable and _cute._ Steve and cute are not typically synonymous. As a matter-of-fact, they're pretty incongruous, and Danny momentarily stops pawing through the duffel to take a good look at his partner.

Steve's still shivering, but not as much as he'd been when they'd been outside, exposed to the elements. His normally bronze skin is a pasty, almost white, which sets off alarm bells in Danny's head.

He remembers his first year as a cop, finding an elderly woman, frozen to death on a park bench. She'd just sat down to rest, feed the birds, and the coroner said that she'd simply fallen asleep. Danny and his partner had found her, covered in a thin layer of snow; skin a sickly shade of blue. No one had known she was missing. It was sad, and Danny'd never forgotten that.

Steve's a long way from freezing to death, but he wasn't exactly his normal self right now. He's a little sluggish, slurring his words; the puzzled look in his eyes when he raises them to look at Danny, and the sudden decrease in shivering, all point to a mild case of hypothermia. Which means that Danny has to get Steve warmed up fairly quickly, and then keep him warm.

They don't have blankets, or those quick heat packs, or even a thermos of hot coffee. There's not even a camping stove. Steve had insisted that they wouldn't need it, that they'd head down the mountain for breakfast in the morning.

Danny isn't sure what Steve's trying to communicate to him when he holds the sweats up as though sacrificing them to Danny, and looks at Danny through the fringes of his eyelashes. He's still blushing, the pink in his cheeks making him look feverish in spite of the slight tremors that continue to run through his body, an innate impulse which produces shivering in an attempt to raise body heat. It's a good sign that Steve is still shivering.

Danny's shivering too, and he isn't certain that the warmth he's feeling right now is such a good thing, but he can't worry about himself when Steve's looking at him as though Danny holds all of the answers.

"You're supposed to put those on," Danny says, momentarily discarding his jeans in favor of helping Steve with the sweats. It's clear to him that Steve needs help even though the man isn't asking for it. It isn't often that Steve asks for help – with or without words – and Danny isn't going to waste an opportunity to do something for the stubborn SEAL that he'd normally scoff at.

"Can do it myself," Steve says, setting his jaw, and glaring at Danny, pulling the sweats toward himself. ""M fine, you should worry 'bout yourself."

Danny raises an eyebrow at Steve, and shakes his head. "Look, Steven, it's cold, and I'm too tired for this. Give me the damn sweats and let me help you get them on."

"They're too small," Steve argues, giving the sweats a skeptical look. "Not going to fit."

In other circumstances, this would be funny, and Danny would take a picture of Steve, clutching Danny's worn sweats to his chest, while, at the same time, trying to push them on Danny. It's both oddly endearing, and extremely frustrating.

When another teeth-chattering shiver wracks Steve's body, Danny pinches the bridge of his nose, and sets about wresting the sweats from his partner's surprisingly strong grip, and ends up falling on his ass for his efforts. A sharp rock bites into his backside and Danny winces, tugs the sweats free from Steve's grip, and scowls at the man that he loves.

"You know I love you, right?" Danny asks, narrowing his eyes at Steve, as he tries to control his own increasingly incessant shivers.

A thought niggles at the back of Danny's mind when Steve crosses his arms over his still bare chest – goose bumps standing out even in the dim light of the tent – and lobs a frown at Danny that reminds him too much of Grace on the rare occasion that she's pouting because she hasn't gotten her way. Not that Grace always has to have her way with things, most of the time she's okay with the decisions that her parents make, but like all kids, she has her moments. All that's lacking to make the comparison complete is the trembling lower lip.

It isn't this; however, which jogs Danny's memory of something that he'd watched on some survival show a few years back. He'd been working on a six pack of cheap beer, supplying his own witty, running commentary, at the time, and it's this memory that seeing Steven half-dressed, shivering, near-pout affixed on his face, brings to mind.

"Shared body heat," Danny says the words aloud, working the idea out in his mind even as he shoves off the cold tent floor, discarding the too-short sweats as a lost cause. Right now, he's got a better idea in mind, and one that he doesn't think Steve will be opposed to.

Steve gives Danny a dubious look while keeping an eye on the abandoned sweats, as though he's afraid that Danny will try to force them on him. It's laughable, because, even on a good day, Danny doubts that he could force anything on Steve.

Danny isn't weak, not by a long shot, but Steve's probably got moves that Danny's never seen, or even heard of, before. Danny knows that, if he and Steve were pitted against each other for some reason, Steve would come out on top.

Though it hurts Danny's pride to even think it, he knows that, in a contest of brawn, Steve would win. Now, if it was a battle of the brains, and witty remarks, provided that Chin wasn't in the same contest, Danny would win, hands down.

It's with that thought in mind that Danny approaches a now wary Steve. Steve scoots away until his back hits the wall of the nylon tent, causing the whole tent to shudder as the thick layer of snow that had covered the tent is disturbed, causing the snow to sluice off the tent. It's unusually loud, and Steve's eyes grow wide, and they both seem to hold their breath.

"Steve, here's the deal," Danny says, kneeling a foot in front of Steve, his hands held benignly in front of him, not reaching for Steve, though he wants to. He can feel a rock poking his right kneecap, another stabbing his left ankle. If Danny never sees a rock after this ordeal, he'll be a happy man.

"We're both in danger of hypothermia right now. It's either the sweats and that long-sleeve tee-shirt you packed, or –" Danny draws in a deep breath, licks his lips, keeps his eyes locked on Steve's, tries to ignore the impulse to simply dive at the man and show Steve what he wants to do.

He's colder now than he was when he was standing outside, and Danny thinks that maybe he should've shoved socks, rather than a long-sleeved shirt on, because his feet feel like icicles. They'd been caked with snow that had snuck in past his boots' defenses, and now they're so cold that they're almost numb, which he knows, from experience, is not a good thing.

Frostbite cost one of his great uncle's half a nose, and his right big toe. He'd been lucky, but Danny hadn't thought so when his father's dad's brother had visited them one Christmas. Danny'd been nine at the time, and had found it difficult not to openly stare at the missing portion of his uncle's face. It gave him nightmares for weeks afterwards, though he'd never told his parents that, saying that the nightmares were from a horror movie that he'd watched, which meant that he'd not been allowed to watch another horror movie, or even just a 'scary' show, for a year and a half afterwards.

"You're shivering, Danno," Steve says, and he inches closer to Danny, reaching a chilly hand out toward him.

"You, too, buddy," Danny says, offering Steve a smile, and closing the gap between them, encountering yet another rock in the process.

He'll probably return to O'ahu covered in a series of deep, pock-marked bruises, or maybe they'll blend together into one, large bruise. He wonders if Steve's ass is being similarly abused by the rocky terrain.

"We're both cold, and we need to get warmed up," Danny says, suiting action to words when he snags the edge of Steve's sleeping bag.

It's not an overly large sleeping bag, and Danny wonders if this will work, if he'll be able to squeeze into the sleeping bag beside Steve. In theory, his plan should work, but in the reality of the situation that he's currently in, Danny wonders how.

"What're you doing, Danny?" Steve asks. Whether consciously or not, he's gripping the edge of his sleeping bag tightly, as though he's afraid Danny's going to steal it.

"Steve, we need to get warm, and..." suddenly tired, Danny trails off, gestures between the two of them, and Steve's sleeping bag, with a shaky hand.

Steve's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and then he blinks, and Danny's stomach feels like lead. At home, they share a bed, their lives, and all Danny wants to do right now is share some body warmth, but it seems that Steve is either, a.) not getting it, or, b.) doesn't want to share his sleeping bag.

The implications of that second option make Danny's head spin. There's a small part of him that knows he's being irrational, that it's the cold, his frozen feet, the rocks embedding themselves into every inch of his body whenever he moves, and not a sign of Steve rejecting him.

"C'mere, Danny," Steve's voice is low, and Danny doesn't have the energy to look at him.

Danny can hear the shiver in Steve's voice, knows that the man's bare skin is still a peculiar hue, bordering on a frosty, light blue. He wonders if his skin looks the same, hasn't dared to look at his feet, which are starting to lose sensation.

Danny crawls toward Steve, ignoring, as best as he can, the pointy rocks that seem to go out of their way to stab every, as of yet, untouched surface of his body. He's not sure how the hell he's going to fit into the small space that's left in the sleeping bag. There's barely enough space for Steve, let alone Danny.

"Shit, you're freezing cold," both of them say at the same time, laughing a little hysterically.

Steve pulls on the zipper with shaking fingers, and holds the edge of the sleeping bag open for Danny. Danny almost laughs when he realizes how simple it is, wondering why he hadn't thought of this before, thinking that he'd have to crawl in with Steve through the small opening at the top of the bag. It didn't make any sense, and he thinks that maybe he's in just as much trouble as Steve is.

"Fuck," Steve hisses. He flinches when Danny's feet press against his much warmer calves, leeching every bit of warmth from them that they can.

"Danny, your feet are like fucking popsicles," Steve complains, but he pulls Danny close, pushes Danny's head down onto his chest.

When Danny's body is flush against his, Steve shimmies as far down into the sleeping bag as he can get, and then he works at the zipper, cursing beneath his breath when it snags. Steve's got more patience than Danny with this kind of thing, and Danny lies there, on top of Steve, marveling at how the man, even without the benefit of being able to see what he's doing, works the bunched fabric free from the zipper and then manages, somehow, to secure the sleeping bag around them.

It's tight, there's barely room to breathe, and Danny's never been more aware of just how muscular Steve really is than at this moment. It's almost distracting.

The muscles of the man's calves and thighs are rather remarkable. And Steve's muscles don't stop there. No, Danny's never been quite _this _aware of Steve's abs before. They are nearly rock solid, and Danny laughs, burying his face against Steve's chest, until he can get his laughter under control. Even secured between Steve and the fabric of a sleeping bag, he's being poked by rocks, albeit far more intriguing and enjoyable rocks than those provided by Mauna Kea.

Danny has a sinking feeling that he's kind of losing his mind, getting more than just a little loopy. _Hypothermia will do that to you,_ he thinks, and it's his father's voice, in full-on lecturing mode, that he's hearing in his head, not his own.

"Danny?" Steve's voice pulls Danny back, sobers him up, and his laughter subsides. "You okay?'

Danny nods. "You?"

Steve coughs, and then shifts, and Danny wonders if there's a big rock digging into Steve's ass, or something. He can relate to that. But then Danny feels something else hard, and stiff, digging into his hip, and Danny almost laughs again, but he holds his breath for a steady count of three, until the insane urge to laugh leaves him.

His body's not on the same page as Steve's, though, and Danny blames his ice-covered feet for that. They're starting to regain feeling, with the aid of Steve's warm calves. It feels like they're covered with those tiny red ants that had infested Danny's first apartment when he'd moved to O'ahu. He'd fall asleep, only to wake battling the tiny red devils until the wee hours of the morning. He'd been covered in welts for a good solid month before he'd finally convinced the super to have the apartment building fumigated. He'd moved shortly after that, leaving the biting ants, and field mice behind.

"Sorry, babe," Danny says.

"'S okay," Steve says, and he shifts his weight again. "Should probably take your shirt off, though."

Danny can feel the muscles in Steve's chest and arms bunch as he moves his hands, reaching for the bottom edge of Danny's shirts, and his stomach flutters when the man's hard-on brushes against his thigh. His feet are buzzing with electricity now, and he tries to move them to a warmer section of Steve's calves, feels, as though through an extra thick layer of skin and flesh, Steve's calf muscles contract beneath his icy toes.

"Sorry," Danny bites his bottom lip, hating that he has to use Steve like this.

"It's okay, Danny, your feet are always cold," Steve's voice is so matter-of-fact that Danny's head snaps up.

Danny frowns, and he shoves at Steve's hands, which have managed to wriggle Danny's shirts up to the lower edge of h is ribcage. Steve's grip doesn't loosen, and Danny feels like an ass when all he manages to do is get his fists tangled up in the shirts that Steve's only trying to help him out of. Skin-to-skin contact is much more conducive to building friction, and heat between them, and Danny feels like he's trapped in the sleeve of a sweater right now.

He can feel panic licking at the edge of his mind, and he fights it back, because having a panic attack right now would be counter-productive.

"My feet are_ not_ cold," Danny says, and he digs his toes into Steve's too-hard calves, feels the muscles clench, and tries to free his trapped fists.

Steve doesn't answer, just grunts and makes a sound that is suspiciously a lot like a chuckle. Danny's toes feel like they're crawling with electrified maggots, and he presses the side of his face against Steve's chest, lets Steve continue to work the shirts free, ducking, and moving his arms when Steve quietly urges him to.

When he's finally free of the layered shirts, Danny wonders if the SEAL had an easier time working Catherine's bras free when they were together. He wonders, a little jealously, if Steve misses that – the ease with which he could manipulate a bra, the feel of warm, full breasts tensing and shivering beneath his calloused hands.

Danny wonders if Steve misses her, misses how easy things were between them. Danny knows that things aren't easy between Steve and him, that they fight more than Steve fought with Catherine.

"Sure, they aren't, Danno," Steve's easy agreement with him does little to ease the new fears that have gathered in Danny's mind. They keep the tent walls from closing in, but they form new walls which aren't fair to Steve, or him.

Steve's fingers are cold where they press into Danny's back, and Danny draws in a sharp breath, bites down on his tongue to keep from saying something snarky. Danny struggles not to claw his way out of the sleeping bag, closes his eyes and tries to pretend that he's not trapped in a sleeping bag inside of a tent, which makes him feel a little like one of those nesting dolls that his mother collects.

He remembers looking at them when he was a kid, and feeling a kinship with the one that was nested within the innermost layer where there was barely any space, and it was dark. Danny's never liked closed in spaces, has good reasons for it, too. It's not an irrational fear. Not something he's ever spoken about with his therapist either.

Danny supposes that, here, and now, with Steve's body lying solidly beneath his, that the fear he feels building up inside of him is more than just a little irrational. He tries to force his thoughts away from the fact that he's on an island, situated in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, that he's furthermore inside the crater of a dormant volcano. That he's nested within a tent that's surrounded by snow, and that Steve and he are bound together, within a sleeping bag that's so taut that the zipper might not even come free if the track's been stretched beyond its limits.

Danny tries, but fails to keep the panic from rising up in his gut. He tries to keep from pushing at Steve. But he wants, _needs_ space. Needs to breathe.

He can't breathe, because there's not enough air. There's not enough air for both Steve and him, and Danny would give air up for Steve, he would, but he can't, and the world is spinning in a universe that's too big for him to comprehend, but it's dizzying, and he can't breathe, and Steve's fingers are digging into his back, Danny's toes into Steve's calves, Steve's dick into his thigh.

Danny can't feel his own body, there's just Steve and he wonders if somehow they've become one – if he's been swallowed up by Steve. If the sleeping bag, within the tent, within the snow-covered crater on an island, in the middle of the ocean, has somehow made Danny cease to exist.

There's a part of Danny that knows he's not thinking rationally, and he'd love nothing more than to cling to that part of him – the rational voice inside of him, sounding an awful lot like his little nine-year-old girl – and let go of the irrational part of him that's telling him he needs to get out of the fucking sleeping bag, and out of the tent, off the volcano, off the island.

It's too tight here, too hot-cold-suffocating. Too tight with Steve whose muscles are hard as rock, and moving beneath-inside-around-under Danny, and it's all too close.

And Steve's talking, his lips moving, but Danny's deaf, and dumb, and his toes are going to strip the flesh from Steve's calves if he pushes them in any deeper.

There's a part of Danny that wants to hear, and understand, whatever it is that Steve's saying. Danny wants to hear the words that he can feel falling from lips that brush across his chilled skin, carving meaning into him with the gooseflesh that's left behind. The words that Steve is whispering against the shell of his ear, causing warmth to snake down Danny's spine in shivers that have nothing to do with how cold it is outside.

But Danny can't hear Steve's words over the sound of his and Steve's hearts beating, the sound of his own blood rushing, like a river, in his ears. He can't hear, and he can't breathe, and Steve's fingers are digging bruises into his back. The man's whispered words are hissing at him, begging him, goading him. Teasing him, driving him mad, and he's slipping away.

"Danny!" Steve's shout, accompanied by a rough shake that makes Danny's teeth rattle in his head, jar Danny, keep him from going down the dark tunnel that had threatened to pull him under and away from Steve.

"Danny, it's okay. You're okay. We're okay." Steve's voice is strained, as though he's been repeating those words going on close to forever. "C'mon, Danno, be okay. Please."

The press of lips to his nose, his cheeks, his lips, helps to center Danny, pulls him further away from the dark tunnel, and back to Steve. Back to the sleeping bag, the tent, the snow, Steve's body hard and yet softer than the ground.

"Danny?" Steve's voice is whisper quiet, though it's just the two of them for several miles of nothing.

They'd hiked here from the observatory – Steve having pre-arranged for their visit a day ahead of time – and will have to hike back the next day, to where their rented jeep is waiting for them.

Danny's tired, and his head aches and he feels too warm, though his toes are still cold as ice cubes, and he thinks that maybe Steve might've been right about his feet always being cold. He should say something, but right now he just wants to sleep, because if he's sleeping then he can't think about the tent walls collapsing down around them, trapping Danny and crushing Steve beneath him.

"You're right," Danny says, and he sounds like he's been drinking, the words slurred, not making sense. He illustrates them by moving his toes, seeking a new source for warmth, because they're so cold.

"About what, Danny?" Steve asks. His fingers are no longer digging into Danny's back. Steve's hands are resting in the middle of Danny's back, and he's gently massaging, working some of the tension from Danny's cramped muscles.

"M'f't." Danny's lips feel nice and warm, pressed as they are against Steve's chest.

Steve chuckles and Danny can feel the man quake beneath him, wonders what it would be like if they did something like this in Steve's bed – Danny piled on top of him, their muscles merging, removing the negative space between them.

He wonders if Steve's still hard, in spite of Danny's almost-not-quite-there- but-there panic attack. Wonders if he can free his hand from where it's wedged between Steve's arm and side, if he can move it just far enough down Steve's side to do him some good.

"They're not so bad," Steve says, and he shifts them, helping Danny find another point of warmth for his perpetually cold feet – sandwiched between Steve's – which no longer feel like they're conduits for an electric fence. They just feel chilled now, and it's a familiar feeling.

"You say that now, Steven," Danny turns his head, peers up into Steve's face, chin resting on Steve's chest. "But what about forty years from now when we've both got icy cold feet, and neither of us can warm the other?" Danny has an inkling that what he's just said doesn't make much sense in the way that Steve looks at him, brow furrowing, lips pursed.

"We'll get a dog," Steve says, shrugging, and Danny smiles, nods, lays his head back on Steve's chest because it's more comfortable that way. He imagines that they're at Steve's place, and the bedroom door's open, and he keeps the snow, because it fits.

Danny frees his hands, uses one to play with the fine hairs on the expanse of Steve's stomach, trapped beneath his own, eliciting shivers that he knows have nothing to do with the low temperature. Neither of them is really cold anymore, excepting Danny's feet, toes still cold as ice.

Slipping fingers beneath the loose band of Steve's tented boxers, Danny's other hand finds its way to Steve's semi-hard erection. He smiles when Steve's breath hitches, and he turns his head, latches lips-tongue-teeth to the nipple nearest him, lips curving when Steve's back arches in response to his touch.

"Feel good?" Danny asks, breathing the words between well-placed kisses, tongue flicking out to wet and tease to hardness.

There's nowhere to go, no room for Danny to move away, no personal space, and it's electrifying, liberating as much as it's confining, because Danny can _feel _Steve's moan coursing through his own chest, as though it's he, not Steve, who's moaning. He can feel Steve's fine trembles when he brushes a calloused thumb over the head of Steve's dick; the wet-hot-slick pre-cum coating his hand when he grips Steve and slides, grinds their hips together.

Steve's holding his breath, stomach clenching, muscles bunching, and Danny plies his tongue-lips-teeth to Steve's nipple – biting, sucking, lathing, making Steve harden, his dick jerk, his body judder. There's a new heat between them, and Danny focuses on that, focuses on Steve, would bore a hole into him, burrow inside and become one with the man, toes curled into Steve's calves, fingers digging into Steve's hip.

Danny laughs, teeth fastened around a nipple, when Steve says, "_Danny,"_ as though it's a curse.

"_Please,"_ Danny says, begging for a distraction from the claustrophobic nightmare that he's stuck in.

Steve's hand, hot, firm, finds Danny's cock, and coaxes it to attention.

"Tell me what you want, Danny."

It's a demand, and Danny's not sure what he wants.

He waits several heartbeats, kissing his way toward Steve's chin – the bristles of a half-day's growth of beard tickling his tongue; it's an unfamiliar, welcome texture. The palm of Steve's hand generates friction and heat between them; makes Danny lose sense of time and place.

"This," the word's wrenched from Danny on the tail end of a moan. He wants _this._ Here, now. Steve, him. The tent, the sleeping bag. And snow.

It doesn't take long for either of them to come, and it's sticky-hot-wet trapped between them, cooling. Danny loves how he can feel every shuddered breath that Steve takes. That, because they're packed so tightly together, like sardines, Danny can feel every move that Steve makes. It's heady, and exhilarating, and exhausting.

Wrapped up in Steve, nowhere to go. It's the perfect end to a nightmare.

"I want this," Danny murmurs, lips finding Steve's for the space of several breaths. "Forever."

Danny's not aware that he's fallen asleep until Steve stirs beneath him, light filtering in through the nylon fabric of their tent, and he's blinking his eyes open. His face is stuck to Steve's chest by sweat, and he shifts, tries to work the funky taste of morning from his mouth, and tries not to wake Steve, whose hands have shifted to rest on Danny's ass over the course of the night.

For some reason it's not suffocating, but cozy, and Danny doesn't want this to end. Doesn't want his life with Steve to return to the status quo – fighting, fucking, dodging bullets and bombs, avoiding the more intimate moments with practiced ease, and just sliding along, pretending to be McDanno, when in reality their 'we' has been little more than a series of selfish 'I' + 'I' moments where they've tried to jam two very distinctive personalities into one, claiming to be a couple.

Danny feels hollowed out, empty, spent, and yet, for the first time in his life, he feels whole, because he knows what he wants. Knows that he's done with half-assing it with Steve – sharing a bed, medicine cabinet, and a sock drawer, but living separate lives.

"Danny, you awake?" Steve asks; voice husky from sleep.

Danny nods, licks his lips. "Yeah," his voice cracks, and he clears it.

It takes some doing, but they manage to extricate themselves from the sleeping bag – Steve patiently working the zipper loose, Danny holding his breath every time it sticks, trying not to think of how bad he has to pee. When they're free, the air is cold, and Danny misses Steve's body heat, locks his fingers with Steve's, and brings them to his lips, presses a kiss to Steve's knuckles.

They dress quickly, Danny feeling strangely alone, though Steve's no more than a foot away from him the whole time. His stomach growls and Steve rummages in the duffel, tosses him a protein bar, pulls out three more, tosses Danny a second one.

It's quiet, inside the tent, but the wind outside has picked up once again. The protein bars make for a quick, somewhat satisfying, breakfast, and then there's no more putting off the inevitable. Danny sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and Steve looks like a giant, hunched over in the tent. He's not looking at Danny, and Danny isn't sure what to make of that. Though Steve's standing only a foot away from him, it feels to Danny as though the man's a million miles away, and it hurts.

"Go on ahead," Steve says when Danny hovers by the door, hand on the zipper. "I'll catch up with you."

There's something off about Steve's voice, and Danny turns abruptly, suddenly needing to get out of the tent, and away from Steve. Away from the strain that he can hear underlying the man's words, the brusque tone that has Danny puzzled, and worried.

The obvious dismissal in Steve's tone, in the way that he's not looking at him makes Danny's head spin, especially after all that had happened between them in the past twenty plus hours. Maybe the cold, the claustrophobic nightmare is still fucking with his head. Maybe he's reading Steven wrong.

Danny's fingers are shaking, and he fumbles with the zipper, somehow manages to open the tent flap and step out of the tent. He blindly shoves his feet into his boots, takes the time to tie them, and then walks out into the snow, his feet finding the path that he'd forged yesterday, walking on autopilot.

The wind whips through his hair, pelts his face with snow crystals kicked up from the ground. He's numb, and his heart hurts, and he can't go through something like this again. Can't survive another big, life-altering breakup. His divorce from Rachel had almost, quite literally, killed him.

He chokes on a bitter laugh, brushes aside an angry tear, and closes his eyes against the wind. Losing Steve is like losing a piece of himself, and, until this moment – knowing that Steve's about to end their relationship – Danny hadn't realized just how much he loved the other man.

When he and Rachel had divorced, Danny had thought that was the end of love for him. That he'd never love anyone as much as he'd loved Rachel. That the part of him capable of loving another human being as much as he'd loved her had died, along with his marriage.

He'd been wrong. Steve had awakened an even deeper love inside of him, and there was no returning from that. No recovering.

Danny relieves himself, and takes a deep breath to clear his head. The air's cold, and it fortifies him, lends him strength. He needs every bit of strength that he can beg, borrow and steal if he's going to make it through the next few hours that it'll take him and Steve to make it down the mountain without breaking down.

Danny's not too proud to admit that he's a passionate man. A man who isn't afraid to show his emotions – good and bad. Quick to anger, and likewise to compassion, Danny's never been ashamed of his tears, but he brushes them aside, knowing that they'll just confuse Steve, and make it harder on the other man, and he loves Steve too much to do that to him, even if the man is going to break his heart.

Later, when he's patched his heart together, Danny'll give Steven a piece of his mind for bringing him to another island, isolating him from the rest of the world, and their o'hana, just to break up with him. It doesn't make sense, and yet it does, because Steve wouldn't want to do something like this in front of family.

There's a small part of Danny that knows he's not thinking straight, or at least hopes that he's got his head on backwards about this. The voice of reason that's trying to talk some sense into him sounds an awful lot like Grace for some reason.

_Danno, Uncle Steven loves you. _

And Danny can picture his little girl, staring up at him with her brown eyes filled with concern. He can almost feel her tugging on his hand, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

_He wouldn't hurt you. He promised me. _

And Danny can imagine Steve making such a ludicrous promise to Grace. The man would probably promise Grace the world if she asked him, and that was yet another thing that Danny loved about Steve – how the man doted on Grace, seeming to melt whenever she turned her gaze on him. God help them both when Grace becomes a teenager.

Danny bites his tongue, and squares his chest. He can do this. He can face Steve, and whatever it is that the man's going to say to him, and then walk down the mountain as though everything is okay. He'll leave the emotional breakdown for when he's home, alone, no one there to witness his weakness.

_Danno._ The echo of Grace's voice, filled with chastisement and exasperation dies on the wind. The image he has of her, fading as Steve draws near.

Danny, chin held high, brushes past Steve when the man finally reaches him. He ignores the confused, hurt frown that Steve shoots at him, the fingers that snag the cuff of his shirt, and walks away.

"Danny?" Steve's voice is carried to him on the wind, and Danny wants to ignore it, but something about how Steve says his name – like he's hurt – has him turning around and waiting for Steve to catch up to him.

"Look." Danny blows on his hands, his eyes not meeting Steve's.

He shrugs, pushes his hands into his pockets, digs his nails into his thighs. The sharp pain grounds him, helps him to focus on the task at hand, and keeps the tears from falling. He pushes aside the image he has of Grace standing beside him, arms crossed over her chest, mouth downturned, eyes narrowed at him, a look of frustration clear on her face, and the way that she shakes her head, as though telling him to keep his mouth shut, for once.

"It's okay; you don't have to say anything," Danny assures Steve, his voice sounding hollow and tinny in his own ears. He's close to losing it, but he takes a deep breath and plunges on, needing to do this, because it can't be like it was with Rachel.

"It's been nice and all. The sex has been…phenomenal, but I understand. Things like this have a way of petering out. We've had a nice run, and –"

Danny's words, his preemptive breakup, are silenced by Steve's mouth – lips hot and plaintive – on his. Steve's hands fall to Danny's hips, holding him in place, and the kiss, wholly unexpected, seems to last forever, stealing, not only Danny's words, but also his breath. He's faint and seeing stars when Steve finally releases him, pushing him back at arm's length.

Steve's eyes are smoldering, shining with a thin layer of unshed tears, and he's glaring at Danny, eyes searching Danny's face, as though hoping to find something there. And then he relaxes, the tension bleeding from his shoulders, and his eyes softening. He cups Danny's face with a hand, rubs his thumb over Danny's cheek, bushing away a rogue tear.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Steve asks. His voice is quiet, and filled with hopeful denial.

Danny shakes his head. "No, Steven, you're breaking up with me. I –"

Steve shakes his head, and presses another kiss to Danny's lips. "Danny, I'm not breaking up with you."

Danny shrugs, can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. He can see the shadow of Grace, the mental image he has of her – her face so like her mother's in a smug, I-told-you-so look – and his stomach twist, and fills with butterflies.

"I…this morning, in the tent, when you sent me out…" Danny takes a deep breath, momentarily distracted by Steve's raised eyebrow and pursed lips, the man's hand digging into one of the many pockets of his cargo pants.

Danny forges on, "You, I thought that you were…fuck –" words have always come easily to him, and Danny's not sure why they're failing him now. Grace's mocking smirk – though it's just a figment of his imagination – only makes him feel like even more of a heel.

He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath so that he can explain to Steven what he can't even fully understand himself. The insecurity. The feeling that there's far too much familiarity between them, and it's suffocating him, making his palms sweat and itch. The feeling that things are too good to last, because nothing this good ever lasted this long.

Steve grabs Danny's hands in one of his own, and then drops to his knees, sending up a plume of white snow. Danny's heart leaps into his throat and his vision tunnels.

"I was going to wait until we were home to do this," Steve's voice is throaty, and filled with emotion, tears springing to his eyes. "But, I can't have you thinking that I was going to break up with you, and I don't want you to break up with me."

Steve pulls his other hand out of his pocket, revealing a simple white box. He momentarily releases Danny's hands to open the box; the 'click' echoing between them. If his little girl was there right now, Danny knows that she'd be standing on her tip-toes, craning her neck over Danny's shoulder all the better to see. Her eyes would be sparkling with joy, her hands clasped in front of her, and she'd be practically vibrating with excitement.

Danny swallows the lump that's formed in his throat, his knees buckling. The ring – a silver band, edged in gold – is simple, yet elegant, and Danny's awestruck, because this isn't what he'd been expecting. Not by a long-shot.

"Danny, will you marry me?" Steve's voice is thick, and his hands are trembling.

In his mind's eye, Grace is watching them from the sidelines, clapping her hands together, rocking on her heels, eyes shiny with happiness. Her whispered, _Say yes, Danno, _even though it isn't real, because she's not there, warms his heart.

Overcome with emotion, Danny can only nod. The goofy, lopsided grin on Steve's face as he places the ring on Danny's finger draws a smile from Danny, and he kneels in the snow beside Steve, not even feeling the cold.

"Yes, I'll marry you, you big goof," Danny says, and he places his hands on either side of Steve's face and kisses him. It's a long, drawn out kiss, and Danny pours every ounce of himself into it. He feels foolish for behaving like a hormonal teen, and giddy, and whole – like the world has finally stopped spinning out of control, and it's just him and Steve, and the image of Grace, standing nearby, giving them her silent approval.

By the time they're ready to head back, several hours later – Steve's all loose-limbed and cocksure, and Danny's heart's swelling. They walk hand-in-hand, the ring – a proud weight – on Danny's finger glints in the weakening sunlight as the world around them is blanketed in a fresh layer of snow.

Danny knows that it won't last, that once they leave the summit of Mauna Kea, and head into the valley below, there'll be no trace of the snow, just the memory of it – Steve knelt before him, open and vulnerable, heart laid bare.

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><p>This got a little out of control. I hope it makes sense, and that it's enjoyed. Let me know, please? Thanks.<p> 


	62. Most Days

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Initially inspired by Jack White's song, "I'm Shakin'"

Written on my flight to the mainland. Couldn't sleep. Posting while on the last leg of my journey to snow and cold - it has been a long day - three flights, layovers, and little cat naps. I suppose it beats a tsunami. Hopefully what I wrote makes sense.

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><p>A man is only as strong as his partner.<p>

Danny supposes that it's a good thing Steve is his partner.

There's no one he knows who's as strong as Steve.

Except for when he isn't.

Like now.

And it's not really Steve's fault that he's not his usual hardheaded Navy SEAL self, because it's Danny who's the weak link in all of this.

Danny's not a weak man.

Most days he and Steve are equally matched.

But it's not most days.

Most days don't find Danny nursing a gunshot wound while he's trapped in a small, metal cage that's hanging from a rope over the side of a boat.

A fraying rope, like the kind used in suspense movies. The kind that break just as the protagonist is rescued.

Except Danny's not the protagonist in this story, and he's certain that, no matter what Super Steve does, he's not going to be able to save Danny. Not this time.

No, most days don't involve a deal gone sour, and a ghostly pale Steve sporting a combination of aneurysm-face, constipation-face and a face that Danny doesn't yet have a name for.

A face that Danny's not sure he wants to name.

Most days don't see Danny dangling like bait, bleeding into shark-infested waters.

Man-eating sharks.

Sharks that, if the way they're circling his metal cage, is any indication, are very interested in finding out just how good Danno al fresco tastes.

Not that he can blame them; he's tasty. He has that on good authority - Steve-authority.

Any shark should consider itself honored to get a taste of Danny.

"Danny," Steve's voice is strained, pleading.

Danny peels his eyes open, can't see Steve anyway. Nods, because he's got to do something, and right now talking's not it.

"I'm going to get us out of this," Steve promises. "Just, hang in there."

Danny laughs.

Most days don't find Danny laughing at accidental puns.

Most days don't find him struggling to stay conscious - blood seeping through his fingers like water, the ocean's waves tickling his toes, because he'd listened to Steve and worn slippers - either.

No, most days don't find Danny whispering, "Goodbye," as he loses his battle to remain awake, alert, alive.

Most days Danny's strength matches that of his partner, and they stand back-to-back, fists or guns ready for the fight.

Most days they are each other's backup, and, in spite of Danny's insistence that they follow protocol, it works.

Most days, the only Calvary they need to call in are Chin and Kono.

Most days, Danny doesn't leave Steve to finish the job solo, and wake days later to find his partner, strong at all times except this, slumped sideways in one of those uncomfortable hospital bedside chairs that make him look like a giant trying to fold himself into a dwarf's chair.

No, most days Danny pulls his own weight, and doesn't wake disoriented, body still riding ghost waves, head swimming, and his side on fire.

Most days don't find Steve snorting himself wide awake and standing all at once when Danny tries to move and cries out in pain with the effort.

Most days don't find Danny staring into his partner's eyes - wide with worry, brimming with unshed tears that are hastily wiped away with the back of a hand.

Most days, Steve's strong, steadfast - a goddamn rock whose hands aren't palsied as they reach for Danny.

Most days, Steve isn't afraid of anything.

But, this isn't most days, and Danny reaches for Steve's shaking hand.

Meets him halfway.

Doesn't laugh or joke or correct when Steve says, "Don't you ever fucking do that to me again."

Let's Steve's lips guide his in a life-affirming kiss.

A man is only as strong as his partner, and Danny's got one hell of a strong partner.

Except for when he isn't.

And, that's okay, because there are some days when Danny needs to take up that slack, and be the stronger one, even when he's the one bleeding and being dangled above shark-infested waters, or just waking up in a hospital three days later.

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><p>Let me know if you enjoyed this, or if sleep deprivation melted my brain. Happy second of April.<p> 


	63. Reality in a Box

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Written for the third round of trope bingo (my third card) and the square, metafiction (which I've always been a little leery of writing).

**_Definition I'm choosing to use_: **"Metafiction is a term given to fictional writing which self-consciously and systematically **draws attention to its status as an artifact** in order to pose questions about **the relationship between fiction and reality**. In providing a critique of their own methods of construction, such writings not only examine the fundamental structures of narrative fiction, they also explore the possible **fictionality of the world outside** the literary fictional text." –from Kate Liu's syllabus (1998) for a university in Taiwan. Waugh, Patricia. Metafiction: The Theory and Practice of Self-Conscious Fiction. NY: Routledge, 1984

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><p>Reality, Danny decides, is a relative concept.<p>

It's intangible.

Something that he can't put his fingers on before it slips through them, like the sands of an hourglass.

Cliché too.

"What's real?" he asks, waving his arms wide in the small, constricting space. "Is this real, or am I being written into someone's story for the sole purpose of entertainment?"

The walls seem to close in on him, though Danny knows, at least in part, that _that's_ not reality. That the walls are not, in fact, moving closer. The reality of his situation doesn't seem any less dire for the knowing of it.

"A very sick and twisted story writer," Danny breathes the words out, closes his eyes, places his hands – fingers spread wide – on the metal walls. "Trapping me in a small space, knowing that I'm claustrophobic. I take that back, not sick and twisted, completely and utterly barbaric and without the gift of a conscience."

"Locking me up in a metal box, in the middle of nowhere. Really clever, and not a storyline that's been done a hundred million times already. Real original there!" Danny slams his fists against the metal walls, feels the reverberations run through his forearms, feels them in the soles of his feet, the very center of his being.

"A little melodramatic, don't you think?!" Danny shouts, coughs on the dryness of his throat and mouth. His lips are cracked and bleeding. The taste is like rusted pennies.

"Rusted pennies? Someone's given to embellishment." Danny rolls his eyes, bangs his head against his cell – no way in; no way out.

His captors had soldered the entrance behind him; at least he thinks that's what happened, he'd been unconscious at the time.

Waking up in a dark, confined space had been terrifying, and Danny'd spent what felt like hours scrabbling at the walls, trying to find a way out. He knows the tips of his fingers are bleeding; they slip and slide over the smooth surface of the walls, and they sting. His knuckles feel raw and bruised, but they don't feel broken.

"And I suppose that Steve's supposed to come to my rescue." Danny draws his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them, and rests his head on them. "Like I'm a fucking damsel in distress. Been there, done that in countless plotlines. Dear old Danny in danger yet again, Super Steve to the rescue. Whoop de freaken doo."

Danny turns his head to the side, rests his cheek on his bum knee, which, thanks to his kidnappers, was now throbbing in sync to the somewhat erratic beat of his heart. Hopefully the damage is minimal.

"No need for good old Danny Williams to land himself in the hospital this time around," Danny mutters, hugs his legs closer, winces when the movement jars his injured ribs. He has no idea how that injury happened or even when it occurred – sometime between when he'd been accosted outside of the office and when he'd woken up in his tiny, metal box.

It's hot and cold and he's exhausted, and his head is spinning. "How long have I been here? I don't suppose that anyone can clue me in? Anyone?" Danny's voice is low and slurred, and his eyes slip closed.

When he wakes next, Danny's confused, disoriented, and his head's so heavy that he can't lift it from his knees. It's dark, and his arms are locked so tight around his legs that he couldn't move them if he wanted to.

"Steve?" he whispers, voice raspy.

He laughs, the sound is dry and grating, and it echoes in the much too small space. He's so hot and dehydrated that he's shivering, the slight spasms jerking him like a puppet on a string.

"Puppet on a string?" Danny slurs, coughs out an aborted laugh. "Theatrics…"

It's been minutes, hours, days, weeks…a fucking lifetime, since he's been abducted. Steve, Chin, Kono, hell, Duke, should've been here by now.

Someone.

Anyone.

Steve.

The walls are closing in, and Danny's slowly going out of his mind. Or, perhaps it's a quick devolvement.

Maybe he's always been out of his mind, and this – the darkness; the closeness of walls surrounding him on all sides, above and below; the panicked beating of his heart – _this _is his reality.

Maybe Danny's always lived in a small, metal box.

Maybe there's never been a Steve, or a Chin, or a Kono, or a Duke.

Maybe they've been mere figments of his imagination. Something he's conjured up to keep from losing a mind already lost.

Maybe it's only ever been Danny and the box – the reality within the fantasy that he had once had a life beyond the box's all-encompassing ramparts.

That there had ever been such a thing as blue sky; green grass; beaches filled with white sand; oceans of jeweled, sparkling striations of blues and greens; and a Navy SEAL, pain-in-the-ass partner, called Steve – that was fantasy.

Reality, Danny's reality, is this small, dark metal box. There's nothing beyond it. A nothingness that stretches on forever.

A nothingness that is suffocating, and all-consuming in its vast emptiness.

A nothingness which folds in and in and upon itself.

A nothingness that closes in on him and steals his breath, his sanity.

Time sifts. Stands still.

Sands trickle through the hourglass, and Danny shivers, even though he's hot.

His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, and he's not even sure if that's real. That he has a tongue, or a mouth, lips, teeth, a head that aches like he's suffering from ten thousand hangovers all at once. None of it is real.

What _is_ real is the box.

And Danny's in the box.

Or is Danny, in reality, the box itself?

Is the box a mere figment of his imagination; like Steve, and the beach, and the sound of waves crashing while he's trying to sleep? Or is it he who's the figment of someone else's imagination? Is someone else, even now, penning his slow descent into this hellish nightmare?

"_I _am the box," Danny muses aloud, and he lifts his head, opens his eyes, sees nothing.

"I _am_ the box," he repeats, and he blinks, thinks he sees something not unlike light out of the corner of his eye, but it's fleeting and it's gone before he has time to fully process it. He's slow, and his head feels like it's filled with a colony of bees – buzz, buzz, buzzing.

"Shh…" he whispers into his knees, lays his cheek on his bum knee, closes his eyes, opens them, because the oppressive darkness of the box permeates his eyelids.

The bees settle, and the buzzing tapers down to a low hum that Danny can tolerate.

"Box of bees. Bee box. Beat box. Bee, bee, buzz..." Danny mutters. His shoulders ache, and he's certain that his back will never be the same again.

"Hunch back of Five-0." Danny laughs. Coughs. His ribs hurt, and his throat's dry as Hades.

He is the box.

The box is him.

They are one and the same.

"I am the box." Danny's lips feel like rubber, and the bees buzz like mad inside his head.

There is no sand, no sky, no ocean, no blue, no Steve.

There is only the box and Danny inside the box and the box is Danny.

"Trapped in my mind," Danny pushes the words past dried, cracked lips, and they have no sound, except they echo, and the bees continue to buzz inside his head, inside the box. He thinks that maybe, maybe the words mean something. Maybe, if he can string them together, complete the puzzle, assign them value, they'll make sense.

But, his mind is not the box, _he's _the box, and his mind is trapped within the box, and the box is of the writer's creation.

Except, who'd be crazy enough to write something like this; to expose themselves, their inner workings –the box that holds their mind – so freely?

"I am the box."

Danny hears the words, doesn't feel them pass his lips. They are disembodied. Floating.

They echo in the confining space, become louder and louder, so loud that they drown out the buzzing of the bees, and his throat hurts, like he's been screaming, but he hasn't.

A box can't scream.

A box can't see blurry blues and greens and stubble-covered faces etched with worry looming over it.

A box can't feel. Can't feel fingers digging into its seams, pulling it apart, or arms lifting and moving and holding.

A box can't feel lips brushing tenderly over the surface of it.

A box can't hear – voices, a single voice, cracked and pained and pleading, _begging_ over and over again for it to: "…be okay, Danno, please."

A box can't move, turning to seek comfort from the fingers, the voice, the lips, the warm flesh that holds the steady heartbeat which silences the bees better than the echo of the words.

"Shh, Danno…"

A box can't give meaning to the comingling scents of ocean brine and gunpowder. Can't muster the image of a face to go along with the whispered words, the soothing touch of calloused palms cupping its chin, its cheeks, touching it like it's been sorely missed.

"Danno, it's okay, I've got you now."

A box can't give a name to its rescuer.

Steve.

Blue.

Eyes that hold the ocean and sky.

Eyes that hold Danny's world, push him outside the box and keep him there.

"Steve?" Danny's voice is wrecked, almost gone, but Steve smiles, rubs a thumb over Danny's lips, and kisses him.

"I've got you," Steve promises.

Reality, Danny decides, is not a relative concept.

It's tangible.

It's the hands on the face of a clock.

Reality is not a cliché.

It's Steve.

It's Steve holding him, kissing him, rocking him, bringing him back from the brink of insanity, or plunging over that narrow cliff with him, refusing to let him go, because Danny is not a box, and Steve, Steve is real.

And if all that Danny can do right now, to make it through the extended hospital stay, the recollection of events that he can't recall – his kidnapping, the beating, the drugging, his incarceration within a lead box, and his subsequent burial for three days– is reach for Steve outside of the memory of that box which confines him when he least expects it to, then that's what he'll do.

Because that's what's real.

Steve is real.

Not the writer, not the box, not the all-encompassing darkness.


	64. Cure for Insomnia

**Disclaimer**: see initial chapter.

**A/N**: inspired by a review written by densidoodle, light rain, and the song, "Because the Night," Patti Smith. Deals with Steve's reaction to Danny's time spent in the box (inspired by another review - delia cerrano). There are run-on sentences and unconventional grammar used in this. It was written with color notes on my tablet.

* * *

><p>It's raining. A gentle, quiet shushing sound. Not unlike Danny's voice when he's soothing Grace.<p>

Steve should be able to sleep. He likes the sound of rain - Danny's voice, whisper soft, tickling the hairs at the back of Steve's neck - finds it calming.

Rain's a balm which keeps his sometimes nightmares at bay - Danny's fingers, gentle, persistent, smoothing away the tension, massaging muscles strung too taut for too long.

Steve enjoys the sound of the rain, regular and rhythmic - Danny's heartbeat, strong, steady...there - it fills the aching emptiness with white noise.

Steve should be able to sleep. It's raining, and he likes the sound of the way the rain hits his roof. The drumming tattoo - Danny's voice when he's worked up about something.

It's raining and Steve opens an eye, toggles the clock function on his phone. One thirty five...an hour's passed since he last looked. It feels like a lifetime.

He tries to sleep. Tries to make good on his promise to Chin and Kono: 'At least six hours. You've been going on empty for days now, Steve, since before we found Danny. You're not going to be of any use to Danny like this.'

Closes his eyes and listens. Lets the rhythm of the rain guide that of his heart. Misses Danny so much that it's a physical pain which the rain is helpless to assuage.

Takes a deep breath, breathes in the scent of the rain, earthy and electric. Gets a lungful of air, breathes it out, takes another breath, and it's Danny - spicy, sweet cinnamon and sugar, a kick of coffee, pungent and aromatic - that he smells.

Sighing, Steve rolls over and eyes the small bottle of pills on his nightstand. Sleep aids the doctor prescribed: 'Just in case. Sometimes, when a person's been up for days, worried about a loved one, it can be difficult to sleep.'

His head hurts, and it's one forty two. He's been away from the hospital, Danny, for over two hours now.

When he'd left, Danny'd been asleep, thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, medications which helped shut off the fear and pain and made it possible for Danny's body and mind to rest. Chin, or Kono, would call him if there was any change in his partner's status. If Danny woke screaming and pushing against walls that no longer existed - Steve had torn that box apart at the seams, sent it to a scrap metal yard, and watched as it was rendered useless - they'd call, and Steve would be able to end this exile.

He reaches for the bottle. It's brown and smooth, almost slips from his fingers. The white label has his name on it in print too small to read. Cautions, dosage, and possible side-effects.

He remembers the doctor explaining all of that to him, but, when he tries to recall the specifics - one or two pills, with or without food - his mind is blank. The print's too small, impossible to read by the light of his cellphone, with eyes gritty from lack of sleep.

At first, when Danny'd been taken, Steve hadn't slept because he'd had to look for his partner. Chin, Kono, Catherine, the others on their task force, hadn't gotten much sleep either.

When he'd come home, after a long day of no results, searching empty leads, he'd try to sleep. Reasoning that he needed a sound, rested mind to do his best work, to find Danny. But sleep wouldn't come, and he'd spend hours tossing and turning, ending up on Danny's side of the bed, or clutching Danny's pillow tight, and whispering promises that he feared he wouldn't be able to keep.

Finally, he'd given up on sleep altogether. Spent every hour chasing down, or looking for leads until he'd found Danny and dug him out of the pit he'd been buried in.

Though Danny's safe now, ensconced in a hospital bed, surrounded by competent medical staff and officers charged with his safety, Steve still can't sleep. His eyes are gritty, and the tiny words on the white label of the bottle holding his sleeping pills run together and blur. He swipes at his eyes, wipes the wetness that gathers on the back of his hand away on the bedsheets.

He fingers the cap, twists it. It's stubborn and Steve wishes that could turn the bottle over to Danny, because he's good at working things loose.

Steve sits up, pushes the top of the bottle down, and twists, the way he's seen Danny do countless times before. He pushes and twists again, and the cap remains steadfast. He tries again, and the cap shifts, gets stuck, lopsided, in one of the tracks.

Cursing, heart racing faster than the steady rain (thank god they found Danny before these rains started) that's hammering on the roof, Steve slams the lip of the bottle on the edge of the table, hoping that it will spring the cap loose. It does, sends the white pills scattering to the floor, some of them pinging off the walls first.

Steve barks out a harsh, anguished laugh, tosses the bottle across the room, and drags a hand down his face.

"Fuck it," he says.

He can't sleep, rain and little white pills be damned. He gets up, tugs on a fresh pair of cargos and a tee-shirt. He's showered, shaved - hopefully that'll be enough to keep Chin and Kono off his back for now.

Steve gets in his truck, puts the key in the ignition, turns it. He blinks, and finds himself in front of the hospital, keys dangling from his fingers.

He staggers through the doors like a drunk man, ignores everyone as he makes his way to Danny's floor, his private room.

Shoots off a sloppy salute to the officers guarding Danny's door, nods when their lips move forming words he can't hear, tries to smile, but it feels twisted and his lips seem to be someone else's, and he just wants to see Danny, assure himself that his partner's safe, alive, not buried.

He slips into Danny's room, nods at Chin, acknowledges Kono, ignores their chastisement, the bills that pass from Chin's hand to Kono's.

The rain is pounding on the window beside Danny's bed, slanting sideways, and Steve shivers, realizing, belatedly, that he's wet, and that he's not wearing shoes. He wipes at the wetness on his face, lets Kono towel at his hair, and he moves to Danny's bed, his feet moving as though compelled.

"Steve, he's sleeping," Chin says. His voice is a ghost at Steve's back.

"Like you should be, boss," Kono says. Her voice is light, but sharp. "Didn't we send you home?"

"Couldn't sleep," Steve says, his voice sounds rough in his own ears.

He touches Danny's cheek. It's warm, and Danny turns toward the touch, mumbles something that isn't exactly words. Steve's just happy that Danny's not claiming to be a box - a result of his long confinement. He can feel a smile tugging at his lips, and Steve brushes his lips over Danny's.

He pulls the towel Kono drapes over his shoulders close around himself, and, mindful of the various leads attached to Danny, he climbs up onto the bed, lays down beside Danny, breathes in the much too antiseptic smells associated with hospitals, and sighs in relief when he can smell Danny beneath all of that. It's faint, barely there, but Steve latches onto it, turns toward Danny and closes his eyes.

Danny's warm, his heartbeat steady and strong. The sound of the rain, beating against the window is a nice backdrop, and Steve closes his eyes, falls asleep to the sound of muffled laughter.

He's not sure if he hears Kono voice the words, or if the words are in his head. "Looks like Danny's Steve's cure for insomnia."

He has to agree.

* * *

><p>Reviews are like chocolate on Easter, or, well, chocolate at any time. :-)<p> 


	65. Tangled

**Disclaimer**: see initial chapter

**A/N:** I thought this was done, but the song, "Tangled up in You," by Staind, triggered this. I think this will wrap up the box story, but I'll leave that up to my muse. Hopefully someone finds this enjoyable, and it's not a wasteful indulgence.

* * *

><p>Danny's Steve's truth. The only person who keeps him real, grounds him in the here and now.<p>

Without Danny, he'd be lost. A ship without a rudder, lost at sea, being tossed about by the wind and the waves.

Steve caresses Danny's face, fingertips gentle and hovering, mindful of bruises, the four stitches that were necessary to close the cut on Danny's chin. Put there by the men who'd abducted him, or Danny himself when he'd panicked and struggled in his small - barely large enough for a full grown man - prison made of steel.

Danny's brow furrows and he shifts on the hospital bed beside Steve, waking. Steve's breath hitches, and he holds it, waits for Danny to open his eyes, fearful that Danny will forget that he's no longer trapped in the box.

Steve's got his legs twined with the sheets, with Danny's, the fingers of his left hand splayed across Danny's chest, those of his right, stilled and poised above Danny's cheek. He's tense, uncertain, dimly aware that Chin and Kono have left to grab something to eat, and that he's alone with Danny for the first time since he'd unburied the man.

"Danno," Steve whispers, hopes that, maybe, if Danny hears his voice before he manages to open his eyes, he won't wake terrified, scrabbling at the sheets, the IVs and leads he's still hooked up to, even a week later.

The doctors don't make Steve leave when they discover that he's been sleeping beside Danny. They don't say anything, just smile grimly, and work around him. It's the closest thing to peace that Steve can reach right now - listening to Danny breathe, his heart beat, and sharing Danny's warmth which borders on the sticky heat of infection, but is kept at bay by antibiotics.

He has no words, no ability, or strength to do anything, except watch and wait and pray for Danny to get better. For Danny to get out of that fucking box, because he's still trapped inside of it every time he wakes, and it takes long, painful minutes that sometimes border on hours for Danny to realize that he's free of it. Hours where Steve's throat grows dry and aches, and sometimes stops working altogether from overuse as he strives to assure Danny that he's safe.

The box wreaked of blood, sweat, feces...fear, and sometimes Steve starts awake with the memory of that stench in his nostrils. Cloying. Bile chokes and burns him as he works to free himself from the horrid memories. He holds onto Danny, remembers that he got to Danny in time, though not quick enough to save either of them from the nightmares.

"Steve?" Danny's voice is scratchy, wrecked from all of the screaming he'd done while trapped, and since he'd been found.

Steve lets out the breath that he'd been holding, shoves aside the images of Danny when they'd first found him, and forces himself to relax.

"Yeah, it's me," Steve assures him, hopes Danny will open his eyes and not see darkness, that he'll see Steve instead.

"What're you doing here?" Danny's eyes are still closed, and his voice is slurred from the drug induced sleep. Yesterday had been bad.

Steve tries not to be disappointed that Danny might not wake just yet, forces himself to smile. "Where else would I be?"

He lets his fingers touch, and trace an old scar near Danny's mouth. Danny said he'd gotten it during a baseball game, something about eating dirt while diving into home base. Kisses the old scar, and pictures a much younger, more carefree Danny. A Danny Steve will never meet.

"At home, sleeping, doing whatever it is you Army boys do when you've got time off," Danny's voice is teasing, and Steve dares himself to look, sees bright, blue eyes open and watching.

He can't keep the foolish grin off his face, falls easily into their normal routine, though there's nothing normal about any of this. Answers, "Navy, Danno," sighs, and hoists himself up on an elbow so he can get a good look at Danny.

His partner's got an eyebrow raised, and his lips curled in a half smile/smirk which tells Steve that Danny's more with it than he's been since this whole ordeal began.

"And, in the Navy, soldiers share narrow, uncomfortable beds when there are much more comfortable alternatives available?" Danny snorts, and other than the roughness of his voice, he sounds like his old self.

Steve's heart catches in his throat, and tears gather and threaten to fall, because this is what he's been waiting for. What the doctors had promised would happen over time. Knows that there'll be setbacks, that Danny will wake to darkness, walls pressing in on him, many more times, but he'll take this momentary reprieve, this moment free of boxes and fear and wrongness.

Steve will take it and run with it, because it's Danny and he's missed Danny. Missed his partner's sharp wit, the easy banter, the knowing smiles...

"Go home, Steven," Danny's voice is soft, affectionate, filled with emotion that hits Steve like a fist. "You don't have to babysit me, babe. Go home, rest, visit me like normal people."

Steve presses his fingers against Danny's chest, digs his toes into Danny's calf, as though anchoring himself. He feels weightless, mouth dry, and Danny's face pinches, he reaches up, cups Steve's cheek, rubs his thumb beneath Steve's eye.

"Babe? What's wrong?" Danny's voice is distant as Steve's head spins with Danny's dismissal.

Steve shudders, kisses Danny in lieu of answering, because he can't. He has no words. Doesn't want this to end. Doesn't want to lose Danny to another waking nightmare.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles Steve, and he ends their kiss abruptly, Danny pouting and following Steve's mouth in an attempt to recapture it.

"Uh, we can come back if you're busy, bosses," Kono says, the hint of a suppressed giggle in her voice.

"No." Steve coughs, ignores the glare that Danny shoots at him, as well as the dramatic sigh that Danny makes as he loosens his grip on Steve and settles back on his pillow. "It's alright. We were...uh..."

"Getting reacquainted?" Chin supplies, and he busies himself with setting out their meal.

"Actually, I was trying to convince super SEAL here, that he could go home and sleep in his own, more comfortable bed," Danny says. His voice much stronger than it had been earlier. "You bring something actually palatable for me to eat?"

Danny struggles to lift his head, Steve adjusts the bed so his partner can see what Chin and Kono brought - Chinese carryout. He sniffs the air, looking every bit like a starved rabbit, about ready to strike an unwary foe.

"We'll check with the -" Kono begins, heading for the door.

Danny cuts her off. "Uh-uh, you are not checking with a doctor. I'm a grown man. If I want to eat greasy Chinese food from boxes, I will."

Kono shakes her head, but returns to the room, sits across from her cousin and helps dish up the food. Danny eats half of his food, gives his plate to Steve to finish up, and it's almost like normal.

Steve gets up to wash up, because the cousins are here, and he thinks that maybe Danny could use some time alone with them. He showers, takes his time, and as he's ready to return, he pauses at the door, listens, his heart in his throat as Danny tries to pawn him off on Kono.

"C'mon, one of you be a good friend and take Steve home so he can actually get some rest. In a real bed. Away from me, and all of this..." Danny waves a hand expansively.

"Danny." Chin holds his hand up when Danny opens his mouth. Danny shuts it, and pouts, but he listens. "Look, I understand that you want to protect Steve, but brah, Steve won't sleep unless he's here, with you. If you think he looks tired now, you should've seen him a couple of days ago." Chin shivers, and Danny frowns.

"Danny, trust me, this is where Steve needs to be. At least for now." Chin's voice is soft and filled with understanding, he glances over at Steve, and winks at the much chagrined eavesdropper as he leaves.

Danny nods, settles back in bed, plays with the edge of his sheet as Steve nears.

"I'm sorry... I didn't realize," Danny's voice is quiet.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Steve assures him, gets comfortable on the bed beside Danny, can't wait until they can both return home, to good, restful sleep not monitored by doctors or machines. Sleep not broken by nightmares.

"You don't have to stay," Danny says. "I'll be okay."

"Yeah, maybe." Steve kisses the scar at the corner of Danny's mouth, smiles when Danny's breath hitches in response. "But I won't."


	66. Fear and Hate

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by Maria Mena's song, "It Took Me By Surprise." To be honest, this chapter kind of took_ me_ by surprise. Not sure if it's any good.

* * *

><p>Fear is a funny thing.<p>

Danny's dealt with it countless times before.

Back when he was a detective in Jersey.

Back when he and Rachel had first discussed divorce.

Anytime Grace was in danger.

Whenever Steve put himself between the bad guy of the hour and others (which was much too often as far as Danny was concerned).

But this fear is different. It's all-consuming.

It occupies his dreams; his waking thoughts. He lives and breathes it. Eats it for breakfast.

It claws at his insides.

And he hates it.

Hates that he's been reduced to sleeping with a fucking night light on. Something he hasn't had to do since he was a toddler.

Steve doesn't complain. Doesn't lose patience with Danny, or roll his eyes at the absurdity of it all - a grown man needing the comfort of a nightlight to keep the boogeyman away.

Steve is a rock. Immovable no matter how far or hard Danny pushes him. No matter what Danny says or does to get Steve to move, to leave him, Steve stays.

It's maddening and Danny doesn't get it. Doesn't understand how Steve can take all of the crap that he's throwing at him and not react. How Steve can be so calm, accepting, in the face of all of the vitriol that Danny's throwing at him.

He's acid, and Steve just doesn't seem to get it. The man has no sense of self-preservation. Won't kick Danny out, send him away, no matter what Danny does or says, no matter how many times he wakes up in that box - terrified, alone, and lost in the dark, limbs twisted and aching because he's convinced that he never got out.

It takes minutes, sometimes hours, for Danny to 'snap' out of it. Steve's voice is hoarse and almost gone, and he walks around like a zombie for the rest of the day - exhaustion bruising his eyes.

And Danny hates it.

Hates Steve. Hates the fact that Steve can't be pushed away.

Hates himself.

Hates the box. And the dark. And the fucking night light that keeps that darkness away night after night.

Hates. Hates. Hates.

"Danny, tell me what's going on in your head. You seem to have disappeared for awhile there. Can you tell me what you were thinking about? Were you back in the box?" The shrink surges forward, thoughtful look on his face, brows furrowed with concern, lips pursed. He pushes the issue, forces Danny to look up from his hands - nails digging crescents into his palms, knuckles white and cracked because Danny's always washing them, forgets the lotion that Kono left for him to use.

Danny shakes his head. Hates this. Hates being useless because he can't get over what happened to him. Hates that, most mornings he wakes up inside of the box and Steve has to get him out of it over and over again.

Hates that, a month and a half later, he's still afraid, wondering if, even when he's awake, he's still in the box. Hates that there's still a part of him which thinks everything he's experiencing is a dream - Steve's hands, his voice, the feel of his lips when they kiss.

"Danny-"

"I hate this," Danny hisses, pinches the skin on his left wrist. It's pink, swollen, because that's how Danny knows that he's awake and not dreaming. It stings, lets him know that he's awake. The box, that's not real. Not anymore.

"What do you hate?" The shrink's elbows are on his knees, and he's got an earnest look on his face.

A look that shows he's listening, not judging. A look that Steve often wears nowadays. A look Danny's really beginning to hate, because it's new.

It's post box.

A post box look that means Steve's no longer the same Steve he was before the box, and if Steve's no longer the same, then neither is Danny. And if he's not the same, and Steve's not the same, then it stands to reason that 'they're' not the same. And if they're not the same, then they're just going through the motions. And if they're just going through the motions - Steve holding him together - then...

"Danny, should I bring your partner in?" Concern, head tilted to the side, slight frown.

Danny shakes his head, pinches his wrist and it still hurts so he's awake. "No. I...I don't want Steve. I, he shouldn't have to..."

"Danny, it's okay." The shrink lays a hand on Danny's, stops him before he can pinch himself again. "There's no shame in needing someone."

"I hate this," Danny's voice is hoarse, his throat feels clogged. He clenches his fists, ignores the heat behind his eyes, the way it itches and makes his eyes burn.

"What do you hate, Danny?" Interest, voice soft and hopeful. Like Steve's when he's asking Danny to tell him about a nightmare after he wakes screaming, tangled up in sheets, in Steve. And Steve's always there. Always, except for when he needed him most, when he was locked in a box, losing his mind. And he's still losing his mind. Still locked in that box.

"I hate this," Danny repeats, and he pulls at his hair, because he can't articulate what it is that he hates.

Can't, won't say that he hates himself. That he hates Steve. Hates that Steve snuck into his hospital room so that he could be near Danny and comfort him; that Steve is there every time Danny wakes up from nightmare; that Steve's so goddamn supportive and understanding and loving. That Steve didn't get to him sooner.

Won't say it because it's not fair. It's not fair and it's not rational.

Steve didn't put him in that box.

Didn't leave him there to lose his mind and rot.

"Danny, it's okay," the shrink says.

Danny laughs, swipes at a tear and shakes his head. "No, it's not. It's not okay. What kind of man hates the person who saved his life?"

Danny searches the shrink's eyes, the man's face. There are no answers there. Nothing that Danny can find comfort in. No help in the man's soft, crinkly eyes, because Danny's expected to find the answers himself. He's expected to talk it through, to see, for himself, that he's safe, that he's okay now, that he's out of the box and alive and that he can move on with his life, that he can trust Steve again.

"Ah." The shrink gives him a tight, sad smile, nods, shifts back in his seat, scratches something on the yellow legal pad he uses to take notes on instead of an iPad.

"I see. Have you talked to your partner about this? It's perfectly normal, to be angry after what you've been through." He's got a thoughtful look on his face, his smile's less sad. "I'm sure that if you explain to your partner how you feel, he'll be supportive."

Danny makes a sound that's a cross between laughter and a growl, and he stands, paces, because he's feeling trapped and the door's closed, and he hates this. Hates the smug, knowing look on the shrink's face, the way his pencil scritches at the yellow notepad as he takes notes, but doesn't fix anything.

"I don't want his support," Danny snarls, he casts a look at the shrink, and scowls at the man's calm facade.

Danny takes a step toward the window. It's cloudy, there're no trade winds, so it's warm and sticky outside, uncomfortable. He drags a hand through his hair, and pictures Steve before the box. Just after his morning swim in the ocean, the wet clinging to his muscles, cascading down the planes of his body.

Danny misses that.

Misses early morning kisses, waking to the scent of coffee, and, if Steve's in a generous mood, hot malasadas sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Misses what used to pass for normal between them. Misses it like he once used to miss Rachel when they'd first split up, except it's worse, because he and Steve haven't split up, and he loves Steve more than he loves himself.

It's a terrifying thought, because it means that he's got to do whatever it takes to cut himself - a festering canker sore - out of Steve's life before it ruins him. It's no life for Steve, taking care of a broken man.

Danny sighs, watches a bird land on the tree limb directly across from him. He crosses his arms over his chest, rests his forehead on the windowpane. "I want things to go back to the way they were before the box. I want to be able to sleep without a nightlight, to wake up without fear clawing at my throat. I want to go back to work. I want Steve to let me..." Danny closes his eyes. His reflection in the window isn't complete. He looks like a ghost - pale, cheeks hollowed, dark circles under his eyes.

"To let you what, Danny?" the shrink prompts when the silence borders on uncomfortable. His voice is soft, unobtrusive.

Danny can feel the man at his back, and he wishes that it was Steve instead. Wishes that he didn't hate Steve for being everything that he needs right now. Hates himself for needing Steve to be everything for him now, that he can't stand on his own two feet.

"Tell him how you feel, Danny." By the shrink's tone of voice, Danny can tell they're toward the end of his session. He'd feel better if he'd accomplished something. "I think you'll be surprised."

Danny nods, pushes away from the window and wipes at his face. He plasters on a smile, because he doesn't want to face Steve with all of this crap. Steve has enough on his plate, Danny doesn't need to add his misplaced anger and blame to that. Doesn't need to weigh Steve down with even more guilt.

"Thanks, doc." He shakes the shrink's hand, ignores the disappointed look the man shoots at him because he knows that Danny isn't going to talk to Steve. "See you next week."

"Very funny, detective," the shrink says drily. "See you Friday." He raises an eyebrow when Danny sighs dramatically and hangs his head.

"Friday it is, doc," Danny hopes he doesn't sound as depressed as he feels.

"It won't always be like this, Danny," the shrink says. "Before you know it, you'll be down to one session a week, a month, and then as needed."

Danny nods at the projected plan. It's not anything that he hasn't heard before. He just wishes that he could've made some progress during this session, that he could fast forward to the end, to the part where he's whole. Where he no longer hates Steve. No longer hates himself. No longer feels like he's still living inside of a box.

Danny steps out of the room, takes a deep breath, and smiles when Steve looks up from the magazine - "Guns & Ammo" - that he'd been reading. He blinks up at Danny, gives him a slow, genuine smile, and unfolds himself from the ridiculously small, uncomfortable-looking chair that he'd waited for Danny in.

Steve slings an arm over Danny's shoulders. "How'd it go?"

Danny shrugs, fights the urge to push Steve away as they leave the clinic and head for home.

"Got my head shrunk," Danny says, knows he's not being fair to Steve, that he sounds sulky and crabby, 'angry'.

"Wanna go get some dinner?" Steve asks, his voice gives no indication that he finds Danny's foul mood to be anything out of the ordinary.

"I want to go home," Danny says. It's safe, less chance of him having a panic attack that'll embarrass him or Steve. "You can go out to dinner. Get together with Kono and Chin; Catherine."

Steve frowns at him. "We could have a barbecue, invite the team over -"

"Steve, you're not hearing me," Danny says, his voice low and tight. "I want to be alone. I..."

He can't do this. Steve's brows are furrowed and he's got a kicked puppy look on his face. He nods, grips the wheel tightly and takes the next turn far too quickly.

"You want to be alone?" Steve's voice is hard, hurt.

"Steve, I..." Danny runs a hand through his hair, hates that he doesn't know what it is that he wants. He wants to be alone, but he doesn't want Steve to leave, doesn't want Steve to decide that taking care of Danny is too much work and send him packing.

"I need..."

Steve pulls off to the side of the road, tires squealing. He turns and faces Danny, an unreadable look on his face.

Danny's heart races, and yet, for the first time since he'd gotten out of the box, his head feels clear. He knows this. Knows what's going to happen, before Steve opens his mouth. Knows that this is it. And he hates Steve. Hates himself for pushing Steve toward this. Pushing the man he loves to break up with him, call their engagement off.

"Danny, let's talk," Steve says, and, okay, those aren't the words Danny was expecting to hear, and he pinches his wrist. Steve catches his hand, places his hand over Danny's wrist, and Danny wants to punch him in the face.

"I can't breathe," Danny says, panting. "You're always there, every time I turn around, Steven, and I can't breathe. I sleep with a nightlight on, and you don't take your morning swims anymore. I hate this, I hate what we've become, what I've done to you. That I can't go to a restaurant without having a panic attack, that I can't even trust myself alone with my little girl, because I might have a flashback." By the time he's finished, he's shouting, arms flailing in the small space, and it feels like he's hyperventilating, like his stomach is filled with knives.

"I'm sorry, Danny." Steve looks out of the window, past Danny. "I didn't mean to smother you. I guess... I'm just not sure what to do. I love you, and, when I thought that I had lost you, Danny, I almost lost my mind." His voice cracks, and Danny doesn't know what to say. Didn't know that Steve felt that way, though he should have known.

"No, I'm sorry," Danny says, cups Steve's face in his hand. "I...my feelings are... Steve, I don't want to lose you, but I don't... I can't watch you give up your life for me. I'm broken, you don't need to be broken too."

Steve barks out a harsh laugh, and he pulls away from Danny, crosses his arms over his chest. He stares at Danny with a look that makes Danny squirm in his seat.

"Danny, you're not broken. I'm supposed to just give up on you because you're going through a rough patch right now?" Steve's voice is filled with venom, the vein in his neck popping out. He holds up a hand to forestall Danny's retort when Danny opens his mouth, predicting what Danny's going to say before he's got a chance to say it.

"I know, rough patch is a poor choice of words. I know that none of this is easy for you, but please stop trying to push me out of your life. Danny, I'm not going anywhere. I promise you." Steve's voice is thick with emotion, his eyes shiny.

"Why?" Danny's voice, words, fail him completely. He blinks at Steve, his earlier hatred of the man, gone now that he's facing him and talking, seeing the love reflected on Steve's face. It's raw, almost painful, and Danny feels ashamed.

"I love you Danny. For better, for worse," Steve recites. "In sickness and in health."

"We're not married yet." Danny's lips feel numb, his chest tight, and he's lightheaded.

"Maybe not on paper, but in all the ways that matter. Danny, I want you. I need you. If you need space, I'll give you some, but-"

Danny cuts Steve off with a kiss, shoves aside everything that wants to get in the way of this. Blocks out the anger, the terror, the dark images that threaten to overwhelm him. Focuses on Steve. The way his hands sneak up beneath Danny's tee-shirt; rough, callused thumbs rubbing and stroking, eliciting feelings that Danny didn't remember he had.

Fear is a funny thing. If you let it, it'll rob you of everything that matters most in life - passionate kisses at the side of the road with the person you love most in this world and the best thing that's ever happened to you.

Danny doesn't want to lose this.

Doesn't want to lose Steve.

Doesn't want to let the fear win.

So, he concentrates on the kiss, on Steve, on one day getting better, and leaving the box behind for good.

"I love you," Danny says, takes a deep breath, rests his forehead against Steve's. "You big goof."

"I know." Steve's voice is smug, and Danny smacks him on the arm.

As Steve gets the car moving, heading home, Danny feels like a weight's been lifted from his chest. He knows he's still a long way from 'as needed' sessions with his shrink, but he's determined not to cut Steve out of the process, to let his partner help him through this.

* * *

><p>Perhaps an end to this particular story arc?<p> 


	67. Leaving Steve

**Disclaimer: **See initial chapter.

**A/N: **So, I thought this whole arc was done, but it wasn't. Danny still has more to work through. It won't end here either. Not sure how this one works, but it was something that insisted upon being written, so I wrote it.

The quote that inspired this chapter: "There's a difference between saying goodbye and letting go. Saying goodbye is "I'll see you again when I'm ready to hold your hand, and when you're ready to hold mine." Letting go is "I'll miss your hand. But I realized it's not mine to hold, and I will never hold it again." ― Unknown

* * *

><p>Danny's letting go, because he knows it's what's best for Steve.<p>

Steve won't give up - he doesn't know how, but Danny does. Knows well the act of leaving, having been left.

He packs while Steve is out for a swim and a run - will miss the act of running his hands over Steve's body, washing away the sweat and salt. Gathers only those things which are his, not the things they've shared - that would be too hard.

There's a job waiting for him in Jersey. It's not ideal - desk job until he's cleared.

His sister's offered him a home, temporary because they've got four kids and the basement isn't exactly meant to be a living space, but it'll do for short term quarters. She hadn't asked any questions, knew Danny wouldn't have answers.

His flight leaves at ten, he'll leave the spare keys to his car for Steve, along with a note. His hand trembles, stomach twists, heart aches, but he knows this is best for Steve. That, with time, the man will come to see that Danny did him a favor, and he'll move on.

Maybe he'll go back to Catherine. Danny always liked her. Felt she'd been given a raw deal. Steve and Catherine will make a good couple. They're both pretty, powerful. Both of a military mindset.

Danny forces himself to think about what awaits him, rather than what he's leaving behind, how it feels like he's leaving the best part of him, not a house, not Steve after a swim.

It's funny, how big a part of his life Steve has become. How, when Danny breathes, it's the scent of gunpowder and the ocean that he smells. It's Steve's scent.

And Steve has become bigger than life. Bigger than Danny. Bigger than love. Because love now has a name, and it's Steven J. McGarrett.

Blinded by tears, by the picture of Steve's fallen face when he reads Danny's note, Danny signals his turn-off. Takes the ramp to parking, and stuffs the keys into the glove compartment. Barks out a laugh when he spies the hidden grenade, wipes at the tears and girds himself for the long trip home.

His heart is a warning tattoo - natives beating their handmade drums, the echoes reverberating in his blood. 'Don't do this, go back,' they seem to say.

Danny ignores them, checks his suitcase and scans his ticket at the kiosk. 'Who knew phones could be so useful?'

He goes through the various checkpoints without incidence, and his heart lightens, because surely that's a sign that he's doing the right thing for Steve. Danny's own feelings don't matter.

He'll ask Rachel for a month of summer with Grace, every other holiday. They'll work it out. As he is right now - confronting demons daily - he's not a good father. An even worse lover - he and Steve haven't made love since the box. Danny doesn't like to feel trapped, being held down, confined. How the fuck is he going to handle a plane?

He's got hours to wait. Coffee and a doughnut he takes two bites of before tossing. His stomach is an acid bath, and he can't get the image of all-consuming darkness out of his mind, of the plane folding in on itself and becoming his tomb.

"Should'a bought a kayak," Danny mutters to himself, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and stares out at the runway, the cloudy sky framed by palm trees he'll never see again.

"Nervous flyer?" the woman sitting next to him asks. She hands him a Tictac, smiles and pops one into her own mouth.

"Me too," she admits, nudges Danny's shoulder with her own.

She's someone's grandmother. Cheeks and forehead burnt from too much time spent out in the Hawaiian sun. Wide smile wreathed with wrinkles, eyes the color of watered down coffee, and white hair that she's put up in a loose braid, bits and pieces escaping here and there.

"I'd feel better if I was at the helm, if you know what I mean." The woman laughs, winks at him, pats him on the arm.

Danny smiles, breathes a little easier, loosens his death-grip on the chair. He nods. "I know what you mean."

"It'd be so much easier if we could all be like Samantha in 'Bewitched'. Just snap our fingers and we're home. Just like that." She leans over, snaps her fingers in Danny's face, and seems to realize that what she's done isn't exactly polite, because she gives Danny an apologetic smile.

"Course, if Frank, he's my dead husband, it's been six months now, I was out here visiting the grandkids, my boy, Billy and his wife...if Frank was here, he'd be telling jokes to get my mind off of the flight home. He'd say, 'Edith, there's nothing to worry about. The pilot knows what he's doing.'" The woman's eyes are shining with tears and all Danny can think of is how much he already misses Steve, how it feels like he's missing a limb - one of those ghost pains he's heard that people sometimes get when they lose an arm or a leg. Except the pain's in his heart - a Steve-shaped chunk is missing, and this is what it feels like to die.

"You okay, honey?" Edith's voice is an echoing tunnel, distorted sounds that don't make sense.

He nods, feels like he's choking on air, a fish drowning on land. He can't do this. Can't. He's too weak. Too afraid. Too cowardly to leave Steve - half his heart - behind.

"Just take a deep breath, it'll be okay," Edith says.

She's patting his arm, and Danny can envision her grandchildren taking advantage, and her not minding one bit.

"It'll be okay."

But it won't.

It won't be okay unless he gets on that plane, leaves the past, Steve, behind. It won't be okay if he chickens out, doesn't give Steve a chance to see what life could be like without him - the man had slept beside him on the hospital bed, couldn't sleep without Danny, and that's too much to ask of anyone.

It's too much.

Too much for Danny to expect, for him to want, for him to take without giving anything else in return. And right now, there's nothing that Danny can give Steve except for this - letting go.

Edith pats his back, offers him another Tictac, and boldly natters on, her voice a steady, calming influence as Danny gets his breathing, his racing heart, and thoughts, under control. Locking them up in a box, not unlike the one Steve had found him in.

"Thank you, Edith," Danny says, squeezes her hand.

She blushes and waves off his thanks. "No need to thank an old lady for talking your ear off."

It's so much more than that, and they both know it, but Danny doesn't call her in it, and is grateful that she doesn't ask him any questions, though he knows she's dying to. "You heading to Jersey, too?" Danny asks.

Edith nods. "Claire, one of my good friends, is meeting me at the airport. It'll be nice to be home. It was nice seeing Bill and the grandkids, but you know what they say..."

"There's no place like home," Danny finishes quietly.

His heart is inexplicably heavy, because he realizes, in that moment, like he's been struck with lightning, that he's never coming home again. That Jersey is no longer home. Hasn't been for a long time. Not even Grace alone - much as he loves her and would willingly sacrifice his life for her should it come down to that - is home for him.

It's Steve, and the wide expanse of ocean that Danny hates. It's Steve, and that stupid, goofy grin of his. Aneurism face. Overprotective Neanderthal. Steve is home. And once he's on that plane, Danny will never be able to go back.

'You can never go home again.' Up until this very moment, Danny had never understood that saying, hadn't understood the gravitas of it. Hadn't known how much it would hurt to know the truth of those words.

Edith sighs. "I miss Frank."

"I'm sorry." Danny doesn't know what else to say. He misses Steve, but he's doing the unselfish thing. Doing what's best for the other man, whether Steve knows it or not.

"I think part of why Billy invited me to stay, is because he didn't want me to be lonely." Edith's got a faraway look in her eyes, and she hugs herself. "I've been lonely after Frank. We were together fifty-five years. Problem is, no place seems like home without him. You know what I mean?"

Danny swallows, his heart thunders, he nods.

Edith smiles, shakes her head, pats Danny's hand. "'Course a young, handsome devil like yourself doesn't know what I mean. I bet you got someone picking you up from the airport."

Danny makes a choking sound, tries not to let loose the tears that threaten to fall. He does have someone picking him up from the airport, his sister, Martha.

"Oh, honey," Edith pulls him close, and the dam is loosed all over the front of Edith's colorful muumuu.

"Here I am blethering on about nonsense when you're heart's broken." Edith shushes him, pats and rubs his back as she rocks him. She's a wonderful grandmother.

"How long has it been?" Edith asks, once the tears dry up, and Danny's blown his nose on the tissues she'd supplied from her stash.

Danny feels foolish, relived. The tears having worked as a balm, the way his shrink said that they would. They help him see things a little clearer.

Danny shakes his head. How can he explain this to Edith who'd lost the love of her life to death?

"I can't make him go through this," Danny says.

"Go through what, honey?" Edith's voice is soft and coaxing.

"I'm a mess," Danny says with a broken laugh. "I'm a mess, and Steve deserves better, so I'm -"

"Leaving to spare him the pain of helping you through this mess?" Edith's voice is filled with understanding, and she gives Danny a knowing look.

Danny shrugs and nods. "It's what's best for him."

"What about what's best for you?" Edith asks. "Frank thought he was going to do the same thing for me when he came back from the war, broken in body and spirit. Thought that leaving me was the best thing for me. Those were the hardest three months of my life. The never knowing if he was coming back. Harder even than losing him to a heart attack."

Edith gives him a sharp look, jabs a finger in his direction. "You might think that what you're doing is for your man, but, honey, it's what's best for you, and there ain't no shame in that."

Edith squeezes his hand, her eyes shining with tears. "Leave, get your head on straight, and go back to him, but don't leave that man in the dark. Don't leave him hanging and wondering. Don't leave him without hope."

Danny nods, his heart a little lighter than it's been for days since he'd come to this decision. "I will."

"I know you will." Edith sounds more assured than Danny feels. "You two are meant to be. I can tell. Don't ask me how, I just now." She taps her temple and her heart.

When it's time to board the plane, Danny feels a little less like he's marching to his death. When he lands, he'll call Steve. He's not letting go, he's just saying goodbye for a little while, and it might not be what Steve needs, but it's what he needs. For now.


	68. Interlude

**Disclaimer**: see initial chapter.

A/N: inspired by the Book and Music Festival in Honolulu. There was a musician playing guitar music. I believe he called what he was playing, "Makenna". My friend's mother-in-law said, " You can't win for losing." And then I wrote. This is an interlude. I'm working on a longer chapter which will hopefully help move this arc along toward a finish.

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><p>Steve remembers a time: Danny sitting an arm's reach from the ocean, toes buried in the sand, wind whipping his hair. He had a smile on his face, and it was meant for no one, not even Steve.<p>

It was a look of pure, utter bliss. The look of a man in love.

It was a look Steve had captured within the blink of an eye, a stolen moment in time.

Something he can look back on now and recall with fond remembrance, and believe that it was he who'd put that smile there. An ache of longing in his heart that he swiftly pushes aside in favor of focusing on what is, because Danny's gone, and he was never meant to see that smile in the first place.

Maybe that's what did it, what pushed Danny over the edge, sent him well outside of the ocean's reach, out of the reach of Steve's arms.

But that day, Danny's toes had been buried so deep within the wet sand that it was a wonder he could dig them out. The wind had caressed his face, lifting tendrils of hair off his forehead, like a long, lost lover, eager to kiss and fuck. And the ocean had kept its distance, letting Danny simply be.

Steve remembers, and he holds onto that stolen smile, lets it sink into his heart, and remind him that, once upon a time, he'd been a man in love with a man who had loved him back. Lets hope stir in his chest that, one day, his love will return to him, and that this time, the ocean won't keep its distance.


	69. Just a Memory

**Disclaimer: See initial chapter. **

**A/N: No specific inspiration, though I did start working on this while I was at a meeting (in between taking notes).**

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><p>"Chin, you got a location on Kaheo Silva yet?" Steve reaches into his pocket, pulls a folded slip of paper out, fingers it, smooths a tattered edge and takes a breath. He places the paper back into his pocket, and rolls his shoulders, faces Chin with a look he hopes shows nothing of what he feels.<p>

"Almost, just waiting on the results," Chin says, and he reaches over, pats him on the back. "You could call him, you know." This last part is whispered, and Steve ignores it, pulls out of Chin's reach.

Steve clenches his jaw, shakes his head. "Just get me that location."

Chin sighs, nods.

"He's right, you know," Kono says, jumping to her cousin's defense. "Just call Danny, tell him what an ass he is. If you want, I -"

"What I want is for the both of you to mind your own damn business," Steve says, nostrils flaring, hands in fists at his side.

Kono advances. "The way I see it, it is our business, boss, you can't -"

"Got a location on our man," Chin interrupts before things can get too heated. Steve holds Kono's angry gaze for a second, his own eyes spitting fire, before he turns to look at the TV screen where Chin has a map displayed.

"The big island?" Steve scrubs a hand through his hair, lets it fall to his side, where the pocket holding the folded slip of paper rests. "Guess we'd better saddle up."

"Think we need SWAT on this?" Kono's already gathering her weapons and gear, hand on her cell to make the call, should Steve give the go ahead.

Danny would've said something about how eager their rookie is to get in on the action, how much like Steve - acting without thinking - she is, and would've cautioned Kono to slow down. But, he's not here, and it falls to Steve to keep their rookie in check, and he doesn't know how to do it the way that Danny would.

"I think that's a little premature," Steve says, looking to Chin when, in the past, he would've looked to Danny for confirmation.

It smarts, but he takes a breath, moves on. It was Danny's choice to leave, and, short of flying out to Jersey and kidnapping the man, there's nothing Steve can do about it. That ship has sailed, and it's well past time that Steve should move on.

Chin nods his approval, and charters a small plane that'll take them to the big island. From there, they'll meet up with the local police and go pick up Kaheo Silva for a string of sexual assaults which have taken place over the course of three months, that they're aware of; Chin's conducting a secondary search through the police records of all of the outer islands, sifting through unsolved cases which have similarities to the ones which have been occurring on Oahu.

Six women, in three months, and only one of them had been brave enough to come forward with information about her attacker.

The man targeted lone mothers with children, coming up behind them in the parking lots of grocery stores and crowded shopping malls. He'd force them to drive to an isolated location, and then threaten to kill the children if they didn't cooperate with his demands: sex and money.

The women and children were shaken up, terrified of repercussions should they give the police any identifiers with which to identify their attacker. He wore a hoodie, and none of the women could identify any of his facial features, because they never got a clear look at his face, and none of them dared to speak up for fear that he'd be back for them as he'd threatened them he would.

It was a maddening case, and it had gotten under everyone's skin. Young mothers, the island over, were afraid to take their children out to do normal, household chores, though the crimes had been concentrated mainly on the windward side of the island.

Five-0 finally got a lead a week and a half ago, when one brave woman came forward as a material witness. They were just now linking the brutal assaults to Kaheo Silva.

It was a crime which would have really gotten to Danny. The detective would've driven the case, probably would've worked himself sick over it. Maybe would've gotten a lead sooner, because he had a way of talking with material witnesses that somehow made them feel comfortable opening up to him, no matter the threats their attacker may have made to keep them quiet.

It had never ceased to amaze Steve, the ease with which Danny could draw information out of distraught people. The man was a genius when it came to reading people at work. It was too bad that genius didn't carry over into his personal life.

Steve hadn't wanted the space that Danny was giving him. Hadn't wanted to be spared the detective's pain, the struggles that Danny was going through as he worked on getting over what had happened to him nearly five months ago now.

Steve hadn't wanted to bail on Danny. Never would have. He hadn't wanted a break from Danny, or the man's intense anguish - the nightmares, and flashbacks. Steve had wanted it all.

He knew what it was like to wake up trapped in the throes of a nightmare that just didn't seem to want to let you go. He could've helped Danny through it. Wanted to help Danny through it. But Danny hadn't wanted that. Hadn't wanted Steve to 'suffer'. Danny's words, not his.

It hurt that Danny, for all of his skill as a detective, hadn't been able to deduce the fact that Steve couldn't help but suffer when Danny did, whether they were together or apart, and, more importantly, that he didn't mind.

Steve _wanted_ to suffer right along with Danny. It was love's privilege for him to suffer, and Danny had stripped Steve of that privilege by leaving him.

What hurt most, though, was that Danny, for all of his ability, couldn't read Steve, the man that he purportedly loved, as well as he could read the victim or perpetrator of a crime. It had cut Steve so deeply that, even after five months, it was still an open, festering wound that stung like a son of a bitch.

"What's he doing on the big island?" Kono asks, drawing Steve from his reverie, and spurring him into motion.

Chin taps the screen, revealing a picture of Kaheo, their potential serial rapist. He's holding a little girl in one arm, and has his other arm around the shoulder of a woman. A little boy is standing in the forefront, there are palm trees and just a glimpse of the ocean behind them. Everyone's smiling. They're all wearing matching aloha shirts and khakis - Kaheo and the boy are in shorts, the woman and girl in skirts.

"Are you sure that's our man?" Steve's got to be sure. He can't reconcile the image of the smiling family man with the brutal crimes that have been haunting their island for several months now.

"See this tattoo here?" Chin points to the distinctive mark on the man's neck - a series of thick x's that ring the man's neck, like barbed wire, or the crown of thorns that Jesus wore on the cross. It is jarring, doesn't seem to fit the happiness that the photo is exuding.

"It's just as Mele Tualu described it. And the prints that the forensics team were able to lift off of her van match Silva's. We got lucky this time around."

The way Steve sees it, this wasn't luck. It was bravery on the part of a woman who could've allowed fear and pain to rule her and keep her silent, but hadn't. It was a failure on his part to keep his island, the people he'd grown up with, safe from a monster with the face of a loving family man.

"Steve," Chin squeezes his shoulder, "it's not your fault. Nobody could've guessed that our unsub had a family, that he lives on the big island and makes monthly business trips to Oahu, and other outer islands."

Steve shrugs out of Chin's grip. "Danny would've figured it out before Mele, hell before -"

"Maybe," Chin says sharply, holding a hand up to forestall Steve's self-deprecating tirade. "But Danny's not here, and we did the best that we could with what we had. There's no telling what would've happened if Danny had been on this case. He wasn't, and there's no point in working out the what ifs. We've got a lead now. All we have to do is follow it up. Bring Kaheo Silva in and process the case."

Kono's expression grows dark and grim. Chin shrugs, his expression giving away nothing of how he feels.

Steve nods, because there's nothing else he can say. Nothing any of them can say. Danny's gone, and if he could've worked the case quicker, spared Mele and her two little boys the terror and pain they went through at the hands of Silva, then Danny's disappearance, because of his need for distance from Steve, was nothing short of a criminal act.

Steve has only himself to blame, and he knows it. Danny's gone, Mele was raped, her children traumatized, and they've still got a serial rapist to bring to justice.

No matter what Danny's brief note says to the contrary, Steve knows that it was his fault that Danny left. That if he hadn't smothered Danny with his need to reassure himself that Danny was alive, and safe, the detective would still be here, beside him and Chin and Kono, breaking cases like this wide-open before they claimed victims like Mele and her sons.

Steve feels the familiar twisting ache in his gut that accompany his thoughts of Danny and he quickly shuts them down before they can lead him to the inevitable path of anger and regret that they always do.

"Looks like this has been going on longer than we thought," Chin says, face growing somber as he changes from the picture of Kaheo with his family, to pictures of women with busted lips and bruised faces. It's a stark contrast and Steve's stomach drops when he reads the dates, and the locations on these past cases.

"Looks like Silva's been a busy man," Chin comments. "Some of these date back to several years ago. To just after he married and started a family. He's traveled for business to Kauai and Maui, in addition to Oahu. Steve, this is bigger than we thought."

Steve nods, wishes, not for the first time since this case started, that Danny was there to bounce ideas off of. His hand goes to the phone holstered at his side, and his fingers twitch, but he takes a deep breath, lets his hand fall idle to his side and doesn't make the call. Right now, Jersey's six hours ahead of Hawaii, which means that Danny would be asleep anyway.

"Get ahold of the local police on the big island, and cue them in to what we've found," Steve says, and he strides toward the door, more than ready to bring this case to a close as soon as possible.

The hairs on the back of his neck twitch, and his skin itches, and Steve wishes that Danny hadn't left, because something doesn't feel right, but he can't put his finger on it, and he knows that Danny would be able to pinpoint what's off-kilter. All of the evidence is pointing to Kaheo Silva as their man, and they've got to go where the evidence, and their sole cooperative witness, points.

"Boss, we got this," Kono says, and he nods as Chin falls into step beside him. Her unspoken, _We don't need Danny_, is like a weight around his neck, because they _do_ need Danny. _He_ needs Danny.

They coordinate with the big island police, and the departments on the other two islands en route. Steve's comfortable with the game plan. It's got every angle covered, yet he feels like something - someone - is missing.

It should be easy.

Arrive, meet up with the local police, drive out to Silva's place, and issue a warrant for his arrest. Simple. No reason to borrow trouble by worrying about what could go wrong. No reason to wonder what Danny would do, or say, the questions Danny would ask.

Steve fingers the paper in his left pocket. It's grown soft and silky over the past several months. And, though he's got the words that Danny wrote on that paper memorized, he pulls it out of his pocket, unfolds the paper as carefully as he can, because it's begun to fall apart, and he reads the only words that truly matter anymore. The words that keep him going each and every day.

_I love you._

Steve presses his lips to the paper and closes his eyes, breathes in the familiar scent of his partner, now just a memory, and folds the paper, replaces it in his left pocket.

_I love you, too, Danno._

Steve pictures the words in his head, envisions saying them to Danny, holding him, only to have Danny disappear into thin air, like a magician's smoke. When he opens his eyes, Chin is staring at him, a familiar sadness in his eyes that Steve avoids in favor of returning Kono's wild, excited grin.

She's eager to make the arrest, to put Kaheo behind bars, and he can't blame her. He's eager to put this case behind them, to move onto something else. Gun runners or drug dealers or gang bangers. Something that doesn't involve women and children being hurt. Something that doesn't remind him quite so much of Danny.

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><p>Reviews are greatly appreciated.<p> 


	70. A Wrench in the Plan

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** This chapter was highjacked by the muse. I was going to write Danny calling Steve, and trying to set things right, but that is not what happened. I hope that people aren't going to be completely put off by what did end up happening.

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><p>Danny wakes with a start, gasping for air, darkness so deep that it feels like he's being swallowed.<p>

He reaches across the bed, fingers fisting cold sheets, and then it hits him, like it always does - Steve's not there. It feels like he's been doused with water, the shock of it causing him to truly wake.

He sits up, waits until the darkness that's in his mind recedes, and he gets his breathing under control.

His back and chest ache, the muscles taut and bunched from how he'd slept, body curled up in a tight ball. His dream's familiar - same as it always is, beginning and ending with the box; losing Steve.

"Shit."

Danny pushes himself out of bed, stumbles to the bathroom, which is only a few feet away.

This apartment is even worse than the one he'd had when he first moved to Hawaii. It's one room - a couch that serves as a bed, a kitchenette, a bathroom that he can't really turn around in; roaches and rats room for free.

He slams his knee against the table lamp and has to bite back another curse. He hobbles the rest of the way to the bathroom, and doesn't bother turning the light on.

He doesn't have anything left in his stomach to puke up, so he stands over the toilet wobbling for a few seconds, letting his stomach decide what it's going to do. Hands braced against the too-close walls so that he doesn't fall, Danny lets his eyes close for a second. They snap open a moment before his knees start to buckle.

His head feels like someone's taken a hammer to it, which is a fair assessment after what happened yesterday. Getting his head slammed against a concrete wall had been the highlight of his day.

The neon sign on the strip club from across the street is still burning bright, offers more than enough light for Danny to navigate by when he does manage to open his eyes. His blinds are more of a suggestion of privacy than anything else. He hasn't bothered replacing them, knows what Steve would say if he knew how Danny was living right now. Ignores his inner Steve McGarrett, because real or not, the figment of Danny's imagination is right, he lives in a shit-hole, and he doesn't need to have that rubbed in, _thank you very much._

Danny knows, even without having to look, that his piss is a nice, pinkish color. His kidneys had taken quite a beating, with the rest of him, and it hurts to pee. Feels like he's pissing pure acid rather than urine.

He'd foregone going to the hospital in favor of getting some sleep, because, not only would it help to solidify his cover, which is pretty intact, but morning, and Dominic Zanetti, would come much too quickly. Danny needs the sleep. He needs what little he can still salvage at 3:30 in the morning.

Danny falls into bed, shoves the flat, ratty pillow over his head to shelter his eyes from the neon light spilling liberally in through the broken not to think of how cold his bed is without Steve lying beside him, of how, even if he hadn't left Steve, the SEAL wouldn't fit in this much too small bed. Steve's feet would dangle off the end, and they'd have to spoon; Danny wouldn't be able to get away with stealing the covers, wouldn't need to in such close quarters.

Danny shoves aside the mental pictures of Steve that flood his mind, because he can't think of the man right now. Not when he could use Steve's support; the man's calloused, yet gentle fingers making quick work of the knots that Danny's been carrying in his shoulders since he left five and a half months ago.

Thoughts of Steve are too dangerous right now. Besides, he has no right to think about Steve like that. Not after what he's done. He _should _be suffering right now, and Danny takes small comfort in the fact that the aches of his body match those of his heart.

"I'm sorry," Danny whispers, his lips brushing against the threadbare sheets.

He'd meant to call Steve, to explain why he'd left. To reassure Steve that it wasn't Steve's fault, because Danny knew that Steve would be blaming himself, that he'd chalk Danny's leaving up to something that he'd inadvertently done to push Danny away.

That Danny would merely be yet another person who'd left Steve in a long line of people, made Danny's stomach clench painfully. He hated himself, hated what he knew this was doing to Steve, hated not knowing if Steve had moved on in his absence, hated that there was a part of him that wanted Steve to feel as broken and lost as he did.

He'd wanted to explain to Steve that he'd just needed some time to get his head on straight, to come to terms with what had happened, and figure out how to move on from it - to make the nightmares stop.

But after he'd gotten settled in his sister's home, he'd been hand-picked for an undercover op to bring down a nasty little piece of work, Dominic Zanetti.

Dominic Zanetti was a small time mobster wannabe who, not only ran guns, but he was also balls deep in a rather lucrative drug and sex ring - he was a small fish in a very big sea, and Danny was supposed to use his connection with Zanetti to get to the bigger fish.

Zanetti was out to make it big; however, and was well on his way toward achieving that aim. He was as sleazy as they came, and every time Danny was around the man, it made his skin crawl.

The captain of the small precinct where Danny had been lucky to get a position, given his history, was new and also wanted to make a name for himself. He believed that Danny was just the ticket.

Because Danny had been gone from the East Coast for so long, he was no longer well known among the criminal element, and was, according to the captain, the perfect choice for the department to use in an undercover operation. He was also no longer in his element, being well outside of the precinct and the neighborhood he'd worked in when he'd been a detective.

He was quickly given an official okay by the department psychologist, for the records. Though, unofficially, he was told that he should seek outside help to deal with his frequent panic attacks, and what the doctor had told him was a mild case of PTSD. Professional help that, while undercover, Danny couldn't seek out.

Corruption came in all sizes, and for a multitude of reasons. Danny knew better than to complain, knew that if he didn't take the job, he'd be out of a job, period, that strings would be pulled to keep him out of law enforcement. If he played his cards right, Danny would be able to bring down more than just a wannabe mobster, but a rather messed up precinct, and a power-hungry captain who'd only gotten the position based on the laurels of his family tree.

Danny'd had to cut off all communications with his family - he'd called Grace, had told Rachel only what he could, which wasn't much - and had been given less than twenty-four hours to do so. He hadn't had time to call Steve, and Steve wouldn't be able to call him now if he wanted to; Danny's old number, hell, even his name had been changed.

Danny is now, during working hours, and even outside of working hours, Michael Lane, known to his associates as, Mickey Two Fists. Hired muscle for one of Dominic's many underground enterprises.

Danny likes working with his fists, has discovered that he enjoys beating the shit out of goons; that he doesn't mind occasionally getting knocked around himself. It's a rush, and a way for him to deal with some of his pent up anger and fears.

Four months, ten days, and sixteen hours, he's been under, and Dominic trusts him, has no idea that Danny isn't the scrappy, former military man that his cover says he is. Disillusioned by two tours spent in Afghanistan, Mickey'd been in trouble with the law, spent a couple of years in a maximum security prison, and is an angry son-of-a-bitch, who'd just as soon put a fist through your face as look at you.

Years of working with Steve had made it easy for Danny to ease himself into his cover. He'd just adopted some of Steve's ways, and made the role his own.

Mickey never looks anyone in the eye, has a penchant for going on drinking binges that last for days (his cover for meeting with his handler), and is partial to dark-haired bimbos; gender doesn't matter. Mickey never gets people's names, uses his fists instead of words, and always looks out for number one. His single-mindedness is one of the things that Dominic likes about him.

Mickey keeps his dark hair close-cropped. Keeps brass knuckles, and a butterfly knife on his person at all times. Is partial to wearing a few pieces of gold jewelry, chief of which is a large, jeweled ring which leaves quite a mark.

He always wears black - close fitting tees, and cargo pants. Never uses a gun. Doesn't trust them.

He treats everyone around him like pawns in a game of chess, to be used and discarded on his way to the top of Dominic's organization. He doesn't care about anyone or anything, does his job with finesse.

Mickey doesn't suck up to Dominic, treats him like he does everyone else - as nothing more than a means to an end. Dominic eats it up like candy, pushes Mickey to greater and greater heights of brutality, and stands watching in the shadowy corners with a smile on his face. Brags about Mickey to his other associates, which is how Danny came to be in so much pain.

Danny's a good fighter, had grown up fighting. But, four against one had been a little much for him to handle without getting a beat up in the process.

It makes Danny sick, what he's become, but he does his job, has become Mickey Two Fists to the point where he's started to think like the man. Dark, angry, bitter at the world.

Keeps thoughts of Steve and Grace, of home, as far from his mind as possible when he's working. Tries not to think of what Steve would say if he found out that Danny had put a man in the hospital with his bare fists. Of how differently his little girl would look at him if she found out what he'd become, how she'd no longer see him as a hero, but rather a monster. How Grace would be afraid of Mickey, and Steve would fight to take him off the streets.

Getting out of this, now that he's in so deep, is not an option. Danny'll have to play it out until the end, become Dominic's right hand man. Much as he'd been Steve's backup once upon a time.

Danny fists his hand in the sheets, ignores the painful tug of broken skin across his knuckles. He's done what he can for them, cleaned them up and wrapped them in gauze. He's wrapped his bruised ribs as well. It doesn't hurt as much to breathe as it did earlier.

In a few short hours, he's got to be Mickey, until then, he'll sleep, try to dream of Steve, rather than the box, or his daughter's hatred of him if she were to find out about some of the things that he's done in the name of justice. Tries to keep the nightmares from coming at him again, and catching him unawares, pulling him back into the haunting darkness.

"Just a few more weeks," Danny whispers, willing Steve, thousands of miles away, to hear him. Willing Steve not to give up on him, on them.

He's almost got enough to bring Dominic's whole operation down, and shine a light on the corruption that landed him in this undercover operation in the first place. When it's over, Danny's going to do whatever the hell it takes to return to Steve, to make right what he's ruined. If Steve hasn't moved on and is willing to take him back, that is.

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><p>Reviews, as always, are welcomed and valued, and taken into account when working on the next installment, which will bring us right back to Steve, should the muse be in agreement with that part of my writing plan.<p> 


	71. Meddling

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Kono kept talking to me, in a manner of speaking. Well, she kept railing at Steve and Danny, very loudly. So, she gets her very own chapter. She was persuasive. To be honest, I was worried that she might kick _my_ ass.

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><p>"I'm looking for Detective Daniel Williams," Kono's voice is starting to wear thin. "I was told that he was working for your department."<p>

"Look," Kono growls, her anger getting the better of her when she gets another non-answer, yet someone else who's apparently never even heard of Danny. "It's an emergency. I need to get in touch with Detective Williams immediately."

Kono holds her tongue while the officer on the other end apologizes and taps out something on his computer. Though she can hear the clacking of the keys, it offers her no solace.

This is the fourth call that she's made since she got off the phone with Danny's sister over an hour ago. That Steve is currently being treated for deep lacerations to his forearm, and thigh, only serves to set Kono even more on edge.

The fact that Kaheo Silva was innocent, that he had a sick and twisted twin brother who had committed the crimes, and that the twin, Kaleo, was now dead, was of little consolation to anyone, let alone Kono, at the moment.

It had been a long, exhausting thirty-six plus hours, trekking through the rough terrain that the sharp, volcanic rock made in Hilo, Hawaii. None of them had made it through the ordeal unscathed, though Steve, taking chances he shouldn't have, had suffered the brunt of Kaleo's foolish attempt at running from Five-0, and the police that were pursuing him.

The man's family had been shocked, devastated when Kaheo had been cleared, only to learn that it was Kaleo who'd committed the heinous acts. He often joined his brother on his business trips only to disappear in the middle of a deal.

They were business partners, and Kaleo always returned with a reasonable excuse - finding them a new client - that Kaheo didn't question. None of the man's family, most of all his twin, wanted to believe that Kaleo was capable of such brutality.

His running, with Kaheo's little girl as a hostage, had been unexpected. When they finally caught up with him, the little girl was relatively unharmed, but terrified, and in shock. Steve had made a foolish move, one that Danny would have spent hours lambasting him for, were he here, and if Kono could only get in touch with him.

Steve had ignored her and Chin, his injuries. He'd refused medical treatment until the officer in charge of the operation on the big island intervened. A call to the governor had settled matters quickly, and now Steve was being treated for the jagged cuts that he'd gotten when he'd tumbled down the slippery slope of razor-sharp volcanic rock as he'd chased after Kaleo.

Kono was bruised, practically all over. She wouldn't be surfing anytime soon. Chin had sustained several bruises himself, and a superficial cut which hadn't required stitches. Surgical glue had been sufficient to close the wound to his hand.

"Sorry, but we have no record of a Detective Williams in our system," the officer sounds sincere, truthful,and Kono has no reason to doubt him, but she's frustrated and starting to worry, because surely Danny wouldn't go so far as to lie to his sister about where he was working to keep Steve out of his life.

Kono ends the call abruptly, and dials a number that she had promised herself she wouldn't, because Steve and Danny are both adults, and she shouldn't have to do this. Stupid, stubborn adults, yes, but adults capable of handling their own messes without the need of outside intervention. Except, they hadn't, and now it had fallen upon her to do what they clearly weren't going to do. For her own sanity, as much as for theirs.

Kono almost drops her phone, curses and stalks to the other side of the small hospital corridor, heedless of the furtive looks that are cast her way as people push themselves out of her way. Furious, she grips her phone tightly and dials the number again, stabbing at each of the memorized digits with her index finger. She ignores the way that her finger aches, and pinches the bridge of her nose when she gets the same message, that the phone number she's dialed is no longer in service.

If Danny was standing in front of her right now, she'd punch him in the throat, and then strangle him. Maybe in reverse order.

"He changed his number," Kono mutters. "Asshole."

Kono pushes her way out of the hospital, needing more distance from Steve, from the situation that's spiraled out of control. This next call is one that Kono isn't sure she should make, but it's one that she needs to make, because something's gotta give, and it's not going to be her.

"Rachel? It's Kono." Kono's stomach drops when Rachel talks over her, concern for Danny prominent in the woman's voice.

"He said it'd only be a couple months, tops," Rachel's voice cracks, she's angry and worried, that much is clear to Kono. "Tell me he's okay, that he can come home now. Tell me that it's over, that he can take Grace for the weekend. She misses her father. She misses her Danno."

Kono has to sit down. She's dizzy. Rachel's words, her begging, don't make sense. "Rachel, slow down. What are you talking about? I called to get Danny's new number from you. He changed it. Steve's..."

"You don't know?" Rachel's voice takes on a critical note. "He didn't tell you, or Steve? I _told_ him to call Steve." The last part is muttered.

Kono's throat feels like it's closing, her tongue's thick. The headache that she'd been able to keep at bay for the past several hours, which had, for the longest time, merely been a suggestion, suddenly decides to flare to life, and Kono closes her eyes against the much too bright light of the sun.

"None of us have heard from Danny for over five months," Kono says, gritting her teeth, feeling small, stupid, petty. Her stomach feels like she's been sucker punched. She's angry with Danny. Angry with Rachel. Angry with Steve.

"I see." Rachel draws in a breath, and Kono can tell that the woman's deliberating whether or not to say anything else.

Kono wants to beg Rachel to tell her what she knows. Wants to threaten Rachel. Wants answers. Period. Is fearful that she won't get anything, that Danny's ex-wife will respect his privacy, protect the detective from being forced into a reunion that he obviously doesn't want to have, even if it's going to kill him. Kill Steve. Kill her and Chin, and all of the state of Hawaii, because of his stupid pride.

"That stupid, foolish man," Rachel hisses. "Idiot."

Kono blinks, presses her fingertips to her temple, hoping to keep the burgeoning headache under control for just a little longer. She's having a hard time processing Rachel's words, the woman's tangible anger.

"I'm sorry..." It's been a long, hot couple of days, and Kono should have listened to Chin, should have drank more water. She's not understanding Rachel. Not comprehending what it is that she's hearing. She's angry, and tired, and she wants to separate her head from the rest of her body.

"Steve didn't go after him?" Rachel asks, and then Kono gets it. Rachel doesn't know the full extent of what Danny and Steve have done to each other, done to the team. The height of the men's stupidity.

Kono shakes her head, realizes she's on the phone, and takes a deep breath. "No."

"Those two deserve each other." Rachel's words are accompanied with a harsh bark of laughter. "Kono, Danny's gone undercover. I'd assumed that he'd called and explained things to Steve. That he'd, for once in his life, done the sensible thing. Obviously, I was wrong."

Kono laughs, tears springing to her eyes. She wipes them away, chalks it up to the hellish couple of days that she's had, because this, what Danny's done is even stupider than she imagined.

She leans against Chin when he sits beside her on the bench. She hadn't heard him walk up, has no idea how long he's been there, watching, listening, but it doesn't matter, because he's here now, and his presence somehow gives her strength.

"Do you have a number we can reach Danny at?" Kono asks when she can speak again. Once her tears and laughter have subsided.

"I'm sorry, I was hoping that you'd be able to put me in touch with Danny. I was going to call Steve if I didn't hear from Danny this weekend," Rachel says, and she sounds apologetic, like this is somehow her fault. "It's been too long; I'm worried. He made a promise to Grace. Danny might be a lot of things, but he isn't a deadbeat father. He keeps his promises."

Chin reaches for the phone, and Kono lets him have it. Her fingers are numb, her head spinning. Chin's voice buzzes, and Kono tries, but fails to follow his side of the conversation. She lets her head rest against Chin's shoulder, and his words wash over her.

"Don't worry, Rachel," Chin's voice sounds like it's coming from the other end of a tunnel, and Kono can't open her eyes. "We'll find him."

Chin's laughter, mirthless, rouses Kono, but she keeps her eyes closed, hoping that if she does, the headache that is pounding against the back of her eyelids will get the memo and stop.

"I'm afraid you'll have to get in line for that," Chin says drily.

"Yeah, they do," Chin's words sound warped, like they're being pushed through a straw. "They certainly do deserve each other."

Chin pulls Kono close, helps her stand up, and then ushers her back into the hospital. She tries to protest, tries to dig her heels in. She doesn't want to return to the hospital. Doesn't want to wait for word on Steve. Doesn't want to think about what Danny's done. About Steve, ever the emotionally stunted gentleman, not going after Danny in the first place. About the possibility that Danny might be lost to them - and along with him, Steve - forever.

In the end, she doesn't have to think. There's a gurney, and an IV waiting for her. The prick of a needle and meds flood her system, take away the nagging headache, and the thoughts that she just can't seem to dodge, no matter how hard she tries.

"It's going to be alright, cuz," Chin whispers. "We're going to find Danny and bring him home."

"And then I'm going to kick his ass," Kono says, her words slurred.

She feels Chin's hand on her hair, brushing it back from her overly warm forehead. His fingers are calloused, comforting. His lips, cool.

"I won't stand in your way," Chin promises, and then Kono lets everything fade away.

She gives into the quiet, soothing pull of the drugs that promise her sound sleep and healing. When she wakes, Steve will still be injured and pining after Danny. Danny will still be gone, lost in some bureaucratic shuffle, and she will still be fighting to bring the two of them back together, because someone needs to do it, and it looks like she's pulled the short straw.

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><p><strong>Don't kick my ass, please..<strong>.I'm working. Really. Reviews are greatly appreciated, and often taken into consideration. Thank you for your support.


	72. Back Alley Rats

**Disclaimer:** see initial chapter.

**A/N:** A little stream-of-consciousness thinking on Danny's part. Thanks to everyone who's left a review, and thanks rosie44 for an idea that I've implemented (a little differently).

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><p>'Dying isn't really all that it's cracked up to be,' Danny thinks.<p>

He'd laugh, if he could, because, in a way, it's kind of funny.

He's lying face-down in an alley that reeks of rotting cabbage, dead fish and piss, and he doesn't even know how long he's been there, or even why Morgan - his handler - shot him. His parted lips are pressed to the wet, grimy concrete, and it tastes like motor oil, cat piss and shit.

He can feel the blood pumping out of the wounds in his chest, and the funny thing is, it's not his own life that flashes before his eyes.

No, it's thoughts of Grace and Steve, Kono, Chin, and even Rachel, who, by now, must've given up on him, that serve as the backdrop to his death scene. It's just as well, too, given how he's met his end. Gunned down in the alley behind his shitty, hellhole of an apartment, like some no-name thug.

Maybe he'd played the role of Mickey Lane a little too well. Had overplayed his hand. Hadn't secured a backup that he knew he could trust, and had been betrayed by someone he should have been able to trust - his handler.

He could blame his untimely ending on the corrupt chief of police who'd sent him undercover when he wasn't ready, or the poorly paid department psych who'd given the man the go-ahead that was needed to send Danny on this little trip to Hell. Dotting i's and crossing t's had been part of Danny's downfall.

Could blame the box, because, ultimately, it was what had driven him away from Hawaii. From Steve.

Could blame Steve for letting him leave, and not coming after him; Kono and Chin for not calling, not caring.

There was a whole laundry list of people and circumstances that Danny could blame for the dire situation he currently found himself in, not the least of which was the dirty cop who'd actually shot him.

But, he didn't have to look any further than the shallow, fetid puddle of water that he was currently lying in to know who was really at fault.

He'd fucked up. Big time, and there wasn't even anyone around to rub it in. He didn't deserve anyone anyway.

_Self-pity, Danny? At a time like this?_ A voice from his past - that of his former, and quite dead, partner, Grace - whispers in his ear.

He can picture her, too, kneeling beside him, hand pressed to his back, dark hair falling into her face. She blows a puff of air at it, finally brushes it back with an angry jerk of her hand when it remains stubbornly in place.

She shouldn't be here. No one should be here.

She laughs. It echoes off the crumbling brick walls. Gets carried away by the wind.

'I'm entitled,' Danny thinks. Because he's dying. Alone. In some dark, dank alley, and there's no one who's going to miss him. No one who'll come looking for him, because he'd pushed them out of his life.

_You're an idiot, you know that, right?_ Grace sounds pissed, the warmth of her hand on his back shifts away, and Danny misses it.

Misses her.

_Oh, no you don't, _Grace snaps at him. _You are __**not **__going to use me as your excuse for giving up. Uh-uh. No way, Danny. You don't miss me. Not like that. Besides, it's not your time._

'Time,' Danny thinks, 'is relative.'

_Stop wasting time, Danny. You know what to do. Do it._ Grace's voice is rough, filled with emotion, and Danny can feel her hand on his back once again. It's warmth stirs him, gives him a boost of strength, and his mind seems to clear.

His cell phone's in his front pocket. He'd been heading to a safe location to make an important phone call. One that, no matter what, he wouldn't miss making, because it was to his baby girl. He'd promised her. Promised his Grace that he would call her on her birthday. And Danny never breaks his promises to Grace. She's his life.

So is Steve.

And, so, when he manages, with numb fingers, to pry his phone from his front pocket, he shakily dials the number that he'd tried to will himself over the past several months to forget, but never could. He stabs at the lighted numbers, nearly missing them, and he realizes, with a sense of detachment, that his fingers are covered with blood. That, he's getting blood on his phone.

It's a cheap phone. One that he keeps secret from Zanetti, because it's supposed to be his _safe _phone. A phone that, after he uses it, he's supposed to get rid of. He shoves it beneath his ear, listens to the phone ring.

He's shivering with cold, with pain, and he can't quite catch his breath. The phone rings, and Danny can't feel Grace's hand on his back anymore. Can't feel anything, but the cold and the pain, and the blood pumping out of him.

He's dying.

He's dying, and Steve's not answering his phone.

He's dying.

Cold.

Alone.

Not even the ghost of his former partner is there to keep him company anymore.

"Who is this?" the voice that answers, that makes Danny open his eyes, isn't Steve's. It isn't Steve's, and Danny's heart skips a beat, because he doesn't want his last conversation on this earth to be with Chin, much as he admires the man. Chin Ho Kelly is a fine officer. A good man to have as back-up. A good man, period. But, he's not Steve.

"Danny? Is that you?" Chin's voice sounds suspicious, a little angry, and it's soft, like he's whispering. "Listen, Steve's not in a position to talk to you just now. He's been hurt. He's resting. Can you call back later?"

Danny opens his mouth to answer, has a hard time wrapping his mind around what Chin's said, because it doesn't make sense, and he can't call again. He won't have the strength to. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out of it, not even a whimper. He swallows, and chokes on his own spit, coughs.

"Danny?" Chin's voice is louder, laced with concern. "Danny, talk to me. Where are you? What's happened?"

Danny doesn't understand the questions. Doesn't know how to answer. He called for one reason, and now, he can't even get his mouth to work, can't muster enough breath to give sound to the words that he'd called Steve to say.

"Danny? Can you hear me? Just, stay on the phone, okay?" Chin's voice washes over him, and Danny nods. He can stay on the phone. Sure thing.

He tries to take in enough breath, just enough to say what he'd called to say, tries to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest. Tries to ignore the bubbling feeling inside of his lungs, the gurgling sound that crosses the threshold of his lips, but it's impossible, and he knows that this is it.

He's dying.

He's dying, and Chin is using Steve's phone.

He's dying, and he can't even say goodbye to the man that he loves.

'Serves you right,' Danny thinks, and he tries to push himself up, off the dirty asphalt. Tries to move. It's hard, and it hurts, and blood is pouring out of him like there's no tomorrow, and he just wants to talk to Steve, wants to tell Steve that he's sorry, wants...wants...wants to live so that he can tell Steve all of this in person.

Wants to live so that he can crawl, on his knees, beg Steve to forgive him, beg the man to take him back, because there's got to be more to life than this. More to life than serving the people of whatever city he's living in, and dying, alone, gunned down, like an animal, in an alley behind a titty bar.

"Danny, c'mon, talk to me, brah," Chin says, his voice sharp, purposeful. "Just, give me something to work with," he mutters. "Kono, I think I've got Danny on the line here, I need to..."

Whatever Chin needs to do is lost to Danny as the cell phone encounters some kind of feedback - the squealing sound makes Danny wince - but he thinks he knows what Chin's planning to do. Hopes, prays that it will work, that Chin will be able to work his computer magic and find him, send someone to help.

"Hey, Danny? It's Kono," Kono's voice is thin, shaky. "Chin's working on finding you. Can you tell me what happened? Where are you? Why haven't you called? Do you know what you've put Steve through? What you've put _us _through?"

Words bubble to Danny's lips, slip past them, come out garbled, indecipherable, and he chokes on something thick and coppery. There's a part of him that knows it's blood. That it's _his _blood that he's choking on, and he feels like he's back in the box, that he _is_ the box, and it's leaking. It's leaking his life's blood, and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

"Danny? Shit, shit, shit, I'm sorry. Just, Danny, I...Chin, do you have a lock on him yet?" Kono's voice floats in and out, warbles, and Danny's suddenly tired.

"Trying here cuz," Chin's voice is reedy, far away. "Standard police issue laptops aren't exactly equipped for this kind of work, but I think I've almost got it."

Danny's tired, and he no longer hurts. Which, he supposes, is a plus.

He's tired, and he's in the box.

The box is keeping him safe.

It keeps him safe. Shelters him from the wind, and the cold, from the rain that's starting to fall. Keeps the bold, nosy street rat from poking at him, the black cat he'd dubbed One-Eyed Willie, from settling onto the small of his back and rumbling like a tiny engine.

He misses Grace, his daughter, not his dead partner, though he misses her too.

Misses Steve.

Misses Chin and Kono.

Misses palm trees, the ocean being a stone's throw away no matter where he is, the fragrant scent of plumeria that hangs in the air. Misses home.

Misses the certainty of the box.

Misses whatever it is that Kono says next, because his head's a little fuzzy, and he's so damn tired, and he just wants to close his eyes and wake up in Hawaii. If he had some ruby slippers, he'd click them together, make a wish, ride a fucking tornado, and return home - return to Steve, and Grace; to late afternoon barbecues with his o'hana.

"Danny? Danny, can you hear me?" Kono's voice snaps Danny back to the present. Back to the pain, the cold, the rat investigating his side with its sharp little claws, to One-Eyed Willie purring away like a motorized streetcar.

'Yes,' Danny thinks, laughs, because Kono's not a mind-reader. Wishes she was, because if she was, then none of this would be necessary.

"Danny, talk to me," and it's no longer Kono's voice. It's Steve, and Danny smiles, even though Steve sounds even more tired than Danny feels, and Steve can't see him smile.

Danny wants to talk. Opens his mouth, closes it, licks his lips and swallows a mouthful of blood for his efforts. This is important though. More important than anything has ever been, other than saving Grace from Peterson. Other than making sure that Grace Tillwell was brought to rest properly. Other than making damn sure that his life had counted for something afterwards.

"Danno, just, babe, please, please talk to me," Steve says, and his voice cracks.

Danny blinks, takes a deep breath, pushes it out past his lips, and it bubbles there. It bubbles, and he wonders if the bubbles are pink. He works his throat, tries to regather the words that he'd rehearsed in his head for the past five or so months, but they keep shifting, and moving, and getting out of order, and he can't quite get them reorderd properly.

"Steve," Danny thinks he says. He thinks that the name leaves his lips, that he'd given voice to it. "S'rry. F'g've me."

Danny sighs when he's finished, feeling better, lighter, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, his soul.

He's able to close his eyes and sleep now, because he's done what he's dreamt of doing for the past several months, though in far, far less words than he'd wanted to use.

It'll have to do, though, because Danny can't find the rest of the words he'd wanted to say. They've slipped from his mind, out of his ears, onto the pavement, and the rat's nibbling on them. Licking at his blood.

One-Eyed Willie's kneading Danny's back. It doesn't hurt, even when the cat's nails poke through his ruined shirt. The cat's still purring, and Steve's still talking, but Danny's thoughts are slipping away.

Slipping away, like his blood. The cracked asphalt is thirsty, greedy, taking, taking, taking all of Danny that it can get.

And dying isn't anything like Danny had imagined it would be.

It isn't so bad.

Not really.

It doesn't hurt anymore.

Danny wonders if Grace had known such peace before she'd died. Doubts it. Wishes that she hadn't died, that it had been him, not her, who'd died in that warehouse. Though, he'd have missed meeting his daughter, missed the heartache of divorce, missed moving to Hawaii, meeting Steve, and Chin and Kono. Missed...missed...missed, god, he missed Steve.

_Misses_ Steve.

Steve's voice is a low, comforting hum against Danny's ear, and Danny wishes he could squeeze himself through the phone, follow the airwaves back to Steve. Follow them back to Steve, follow them back in time and undo all of the damage that he's done. Fix his brokenness before it broke him and Steve, before it broke them.

And as his heart starts to slow, his lungs failing to fill completely, Danny pictures Steve as an old man, hair white. He's alone, sitting on his lanai, drinking a beer, looking out at the ocean. He looks sad, and Danny's standing there, beside him, a hand on Steve's shoulder, but Steve can't see him, doesn't sense his presence.

"I miss you, Danno." Steve's voice is gravelly, and, when he finishes his beer, he struggles to rise off of the lawn chair that he's sitting on. He plucks a cane up off the ground and hobbles toward the house. His back's bent with age, and he's limping, one hand rubbing at a knot on his left knee.

Danny stands, frozen to his spot on the lanai, watches Steve enter the house. He doesn't look back, doesn't know that Danny's there, and Danny's heart aches, because all he can do is watch as Steve's life, the end of it, flashes before him, and that's not what he wants for Steve.

That's not what he wants for the man he loves. He doesn't want Steve to spend the rest of his life pining after him.

But, as Danny takes one last, deep breath, intending to use it to tell Steve to move on, even that slips away from him, and the moment is lost. It's lost in a murky nothingness. Lost in a final exhale that Danny doesn't even feel leave his lungs. Lost in a dark, cold alley behind a shitty apartment in a long string of shitty apartments.

No, death is not all that it's cracked up to be. Not by a long shot.

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><p>Hopefully I'll still have some readers after this. I do have the next chapter waiting in the wings, and will start working on the subsequent chapter...provided that people are still interested.<p> 


	73. Thin Connection

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired, in part, by the Blue October song, "Amazing," and much more largely due to the wonderful reviews and awesome support from readers. THANK YOU! Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I feel better about it today (after some tweaking) than I did yesterday.

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><p>"Chin, this can't wait," Steve says. "<em>I <em>can't wait." His skin feels like it's too tight, that he's about to burst right out of it if he doesn't get moving soon.

"But..." Chin sighs, runs a hand through his hair and nods.

Steve knows what the man is thinking, that it's too soon after what happened today. They're all injured, exhausted, hurting, and now is not the time for Steve to take off on what could very well be nothing more than a ghost hunt.

"I'm going with you," Kono announces; she's got her duffel on her shoulder, a hand on her hip.

Steve shakes his head. He has to do this alone, _wants _to do this alone, because if...if Danny's really dead, then he doesn't know what he'll do. He looks to Chin for support, hoping that the seasoned officer will give it, that he'll be able to keep Kono in check.

"Steve, we're both coming," Chin says; he's looking at the phone in his hand. "I've already booked our flight. It leaves in just under three hours." He takes a deep breath and looks at Steve. There's a steely resolve in Chin's eyes, and Steve knows that he's outnumbered, that Chin is not going to back down, and if need be, the older, more experienced officer, will sic Kono on him.

It's not fair. But nothing, strictly speaking, has been fair since Danny's left him.

"Danny's our friend, too," he adds softly, placing a hand on Steve's and ignoring the way that Steve tenses beneath the touch. "He's in trouble, and we're going along to help."

"And to keep an eye on you, boss," Kono says, punches Steve in the shoulder, holds up a little brown bottle of pills and jangles it in his face.

Steve grimaces and shakes his head, but the truth is that his body _does _ache from his tumble down the mountainside, and he's got the stitches, the headache and the bruises to prove it. He'd been stupid, going after Silva the way he had. Danny would've given him an earful, and then some. Steve would have been spending that night - bruises, stitches and all - on the couch, maybe even the next.

The fact that he'd purposefully neglected to pick up the very pills that Kono's holding in her hand has more to do with stubbornness than anything else, and Steve knows it. Danny would've watched him like a hawk, made sure he took his pills, done what Kono is doing, whether he'd consigned Steve to the couch or not.

"What if..." Steve stops himself from finishing the question that's on all of their minds. His voice breaks and tears threaten, and he has to look away from Chin, from Kono, because if he doesn't, then the tears will fall, and he's _not_ a weak man. Not a man easily given to pining and tears. If Danny was here, he'd tell Steve that tears are not a sign of weakness. But, Danny's not here. He's not here, and Steve can't think about it. Can't think about why it is that the tears are pressing at the back of his eyes.

He hates that he doesn't know if Danny's alive, not for sure. The paramedics - thank god they'd arrived when they had, when Danny'd gone far too silent - had said that it didn't look promising when they found him. They'd used the word bleak.

Danny hadn't been breathing, and his heart had stopped beating. The paramedics had cut the call off abruptly when they began to work on reviving the fallen officer. Steve had only been able to give the men a short version of what he knew - that Danny was undercover, that he was an officer - before the call was ended, and he was left holding a dead, silent phone to his ear with fingers that trembled.

Steve's heart had simply stopped beating for a moment that felt like an eternity, and he went blind, his legs gave out on him, and, for several terrifying minutes, he couldn't remember how to breathe. The world - doctors and nurses scurrying around him, shouting out orders, Kono pacing nearby, and Chin kneeling down beside him, urging him to breathe - came back to him slowly, and in disjointed pieces.

Steve's head took several more heartbeats to clear, and, when it finally did, he hadn't been able to accept what he'd heard. Unable to believe that Danny was really dead - whether for a minute or for the rest of forever -Steve had ordered Chin to keep an eye on the cell phone's signal. Not that Chin had stopped.

How Chin had been able to find, and then follow it was, and would forever be, a mystery to Steve. All he cared about was that Chin had been able to do it, that he'd been able to find Danny. That he was able to keep tracking him.

"He's not dead," Kono says fiercely, bringing Steve back to the present, her dark eyes sparkling. "The paramedics were able to revive him," she adds with confidence, though it's been hours and the paramedics haven't called back. Not that they'd promised that they would. They hadn't promised Steve anything.

"I'm still picking up a signal from the cell phone that he used to contact you," Chin says.

He's holding up the borrowed laptop, pointing toward a blinking light, and Steve has no idea how Chin's managed to do what he's done with such a cheap piece of equipment, but right now he could kiss the man, because what he's pointing at is a hospital, and that's exactly where they're heading. Just as soon as they can get things in motion here.

"I wish we knew what cover he was using," Steve says, not for the first time since he'd learned of Kono's conversation with Rachel.

He'd wanted to put his fist through a wall when he heard about Danny going undercover. Wanted to read the man the riot act, make Danny sleep on the couch, or build the man a doghouse, because it was a stupid and foolish thing to do without good, reliable backup. Without people that he could trust, and there was no way in hell that Steve believed that Danny had found people, there, who he had begun to trust to have his back that quickly. Not when it had taken Danny several months to start trusting him.

It makes Steve's gut twist, and raises the hairs on the back of his neck when he thinks about it. Raises his blood pressure, which he's supposed to keep an eye on, because of the slight heatstroke he'd suffered from running on the black, volcanic rock when the sun was at its highest.

He knows, instinctively, that something was wrong with the undercover operation from the get-go. That Danny had walked into a deathtrap and from what he could tell from where he stood now, Danny had done so willingly. What Steve didn't know, didn't understand, was why Danny had done it. Surely the man wouldn't put his life on the line when he still had Grace to help raise.

"Chin, see what you can find out about the undercover operation that Danny was on," Steve says, the uneasiness in his gut growing ten-fold as a hundred different scenarios play themselves out in his mind. None of them ending well for Danny. Or for him.

"Already on it," Chin says, and Steve can see that, in addition to the laptop Chin had borrowed from the Hilo Police Department, he's also got a second smart phone, and an ipad.

For a second, Steve feels dizzy as he watches Chin work each device expertly, and almost simultaneously. The man's like an octopus and Steve has to look away, because it brings tears to his eyes when he thinks about why Chin is working away like mad.

"Would make it easier to get information from the hospital," Kono mutters.

Steve knows that she's angry with herself for not getting more information from Rachel; for her body finally giving in to the heatstroke that it had been valiantly fighting off. It was a combination of too much sun and dehydration that had been her undoing. She, too, had a tiny brown bottle filled with pills, and strict instructions to drink at least two more quarts of water before the day was over. No amount of Chin and Steve telling her that none of this was her fault had helped soothe Kono's smarting heart.

"It wasn't promising that they've got a busy E.R., lots of John Does with a variety of injuries from gunshot wounds to lethal knife wounds," Chin adds, his mouth twisting sardonically.

Chin called the hospital, shortly after the blip on his computer had indicated that Danny - provided that he hadn't been separated from his cell phone - had arrived. Had tried to get through to someone who was willing to talk to him, but had been given the runaround, even when he'd played the 'police' and emergency cards. The E.R. had simply been too swamped when he'd called. Something about a massive car pile-up and a public shooting of some sort.

"He's alive," Kono says with finality, slamming a fist into her open palm.

Steve wants to believe her, wants to trust that the twinge that he feels in his gut is what it's telling him that it is - a sign that Danny's still alive.

Wouldn't he feel it, in the deepest recesses of his being, if Danny was dead? Surely he'd feel the loss of this connection that's been keeping him going for these past several months in Danny's absence. Steve hadn't realized that this connection existed until Danny had left him, and he'd first felt a pang - an ache in his gut that told him something was wrong. He'd ignored that pang, and there isn't a day that goes by where he wishes that he hadn't, that he'd recognized it for what it was that day, and that he'd intercepted Danny before the man had left.

Steve knows that, if Danny was really and truly dead, that he'd feel their connection snap. He's certain of it. And that means that Danny's still alive, because Steve hasn't felt the _aloneness_ that he knows will be there when Danny's gone. It'll be all-encompassing, and Steve knows that he won't be coming back from that - not fully.

The connection that he's got with Danny, it's still there. It's weak and flickering, and putting Steve's heart through the wringer, because it's telling him that Danny's not doing well, but it's still there.

Something inside of Steve had _known _before Chin had passed the phone to him that it was Danny on the other end. Had known that Danny was slipping away from him, that Danny _had_ slipped away from him, from this life, for a time. But then he'd come back, Steve's certain of it. Trusts his gut, because that's all that he's got left in the absence of his partner.

There's no guarantee that the paramedics had been able to revive Danny. No guarantee that, when Steve and Chin and Kono set foot in the hospital thousands of miles away, hours from now, Danny's not going to be in the morgue.

No guarantee, other than the feeling deep in Steve's gut. That thin, ethereal string, vibrating inside of him which connects Steve to Danny on some otherworldly plane. Steve wonders if Danny has this same sense of connection. If this _string _goes both ways.

He hopes that it does, sends Danny as much love and comfort and hope as he can. Sends the man a kick in the ass, because that's what he wants to do - kick Danny for leaving him. But Danny needs to be alive in order for him to do that, and Steve's counting on it. Counting on Danny.

_Hang on, Danny. I'm coming for you. Don't let go. I'm coming for you. Danno, just hold onto me, hold onto us. Don't give up. _

"Steve?" Chin's voice sounds half-amused, half-concerned, and Steve knows that the man's been trying, and failing, to get his attention by the look that Chin gives him.

Steve takes a deep breath, lets it out.

"Steve, we've got to have a game plan. We've got to be careful, because Danny's undercover. We can't just march into the hospital, declaring war on the hospital staff if they don't immediately give us access to Danny," Chin says drily.

Steve glares at him, but nods, because that's exactly what he'd planned on doing. Not in so many words; not in any words, actually. He'd pictured it all in his mind - he'd made several different contingency plans, just in case his favored scenario didn't work.

"What makes you so sure that his cover's not been blown?" Kono asks.

"I'm not," Chin says, and he runs a hand through his hair.

He's tired. They all are, and Steve knows that Chin's nursing a wound as well, probably has his own little, brown bottle of pills that'll be making the trip to the mainland.

"But, we have to go there, operating under the assumptions that: a. Danny's alive, and b. whether his cover's intact or not, we're going to find him before anyone else does." Chin's voice is calm, almost chillingly so.

"So, we go in -" Steve pauses to think, presses his thumbs to his temples, because his head still aches, and he refuses to take any of those pills just yet. He'll take them when they're in the air.

"We go in with the goal of keeping Danny's cover," Chin says.

"Even though we don't know what it is, or who he's working for?" Kono asks, though Steve can tell by the grim smile on her face that she's warming up to the prospect of being undercover herself, because that's what they'll have to do to maintain Danny's cover, whatever the hell it is.

Chin nods. "We'll have to play this cool. No going off half-cocked." He looks long and hard at Steve.

"Fine," Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest, the skin pulling where it's been stitched. "We'll work out a plan on the plane."

Chin nods, and leads the way. They've got a police escort to the airport, and Chin's managed to get them first class seats, near the front of the plane, away from the other passengers. It's going to be a long flight, and Steve has a feeling that none of them are going to get any sleep, even though they all need it.

* * *

><p>And, now, to work on the next part.<p> 


	74. Out of Body

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N: **Two chapters came to me, virtually simultaneously, and I wasn't sure which one to post first; didn't have time to finish either of them until today. I think, given the nature of this one, and the next one, this chapter should be posted first. I will post the next one soonish and will work on yet another chapter of this ever-increasing story arc. Plot bunnies are not our friends. They are vermin, and they need to be made into hasenpfeffer. Though, I guess I'll let you be the judge of that. Much thanks to those who've been so wonderfully supportive. Reviews mean the world to me.

**A/N 2:** I'm not a doctor or a nurse; I don't even play one on TV, so please, take what I write with a grain of salt ( I did a mini-research, and found a cool research paper about the success rate of open heart massage on canines - it does translate to humans as well, I believe - : / / . a h a journals content / 75 /2 / 498. full. pdf - because I'm a geek).

I _have_ had an out of body experience, it was not nearly as traumatic as the one which follows.

* * *

><p>"Call it, doctor," one of the nurses says.<p>

She's surrounded by light that's too bright and her face is obscured by it. Danny can't get a clear look at her from his vantage point.

There's no emotion in her voice, and Danny gets the distinct impression that she's been having one of those days where whatever can go wrong has gone wrong. He knows days like that. Has lived through his fair share of them, and, if he's not mistaken, today has been one of those days for him as well.

It had been one shitty thing after another. Missing his daughter's birthday, getting shot down in the alley by a man he should have been able to trust.

"He's gone. We've done all we can; it's time to call it," the nurse says.

It's clear that she's been through this countless times before, has witnessed an untold amount of deaths over her tenure as a nurse. Danny doesn't envy her. Doesn't envy the doctor who doesn't appear to be listening, because he continues to work on the body splayed open on the gurney.

Danny can't get a clear look at the doctor's face either. It's obscured by the light and by the mask on the man's face. His hands are wrist-deep in the poor, dead man's chest cavity, and Danny wonders why he doesn't call it yet, what keeps the man working when it's clear to everyone else, Danny included, that there's no life left to preserve.

"Just gotta find that bleeder," the doctor mutters, and he shrugs at a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek.

Danny gets the impression, by the nurse's impatient sigh, that this is just one death of many. Danny's afraid to look too closely at the face of the dead man. Afraid to see who it is that the nurse is talking about. Who the man lying on the gurney with his chest cracked wide open is.

There's blood everywhere. On the floor, the walls, the doctors' blue scrubs - there are three of them, only one is still working on the dead man - the white masks that they wear. Their gloves are coated with it and Danny wants to look away, but he can't. He can't look away.

He's oddly detached, floating above it all, and it's eerie. Danny knows that he shouldn't be floating. That his body shouldn't feel this light, that there's something _wrong _about it all. He gets the feeling - a persistent niggling that starts at the back of his neck and claws its way through to his gut - that he shouldn't be where he is at all, that he should be somewhere else.

And there's a loud, keening sound. It reminds Danny of the annoying car alarm that's been going off in his neighborhood for the past several weeks at three in the morning, every morning. He wants to find the source of the sound and end it, once and for all. Wants to strangle the son-of-a-bitch car owner, because he can't get a decent night's sleep. Hasn't gotten a decent night's sleep since he left Hawaii; left Steve.

The impression that he's not where he should be gets stronger, and Danny tries to move, tries to go somewhere else, wonders why the doctors and the nurses haven't shooed him out of the room in the first place. He shouldn't be in there, above all of the action that's taking place in the busy ER, but he is, and he's powerless to move anywhere else.

And he misses Steve, misses the way that the man's hands move along Danny's spine, caressing the tense muscles when he's had a long day, and his body aches. Misses how gentle and firm Steve's fingers can be as they work the muscles loose, and Danny's aches give way to pleasure.

"Doctor," the nurse says. Her voice sharp, and it snaps Danny out of his memory, and then Danny does look down at the poor sap on the gurney, as if compelled to.

He's struck with a strong wave of vertigo, and for several long moments, Danny's not sure which way is up. Panicking at what he's seeing, Danny can't look away, can't stop staring down at the body on the gurney even though he wants to.

It's him, and yet it can't be him, because he's not there, he's here, and he's floating above it all, and he wants Steve to bring him back down, to dig his long fingers into the knots in Danny's back and knead them until they're gone.

The body on the gurney is too broken to be him. Too bloody. Too skinny. Skin's too pale, and the eyes are lifeless. The heart's a lopsided unbeating mess,and it can't be him, because if it is him, then that means that he's dead. He's dead and he never got to say goodbye to his little girl, never got to tell Steve that he was sorry. Never got a chance to make things right.

There was a part of him - before he'd seen what he hadn't wanted to see - that had feared it was Steven on that table. Seeing himself, instead of Steve, doesn't ease any of his anxiety, doesn't make him any less freaked.

Danny thinks, for a moment, that maybe this isn't real. That he's dreaming, and, any minute, he'll wake to the sound of his daughter's voice calling his name, and Steve pinning him to the bed to steal a kiss before they get up to face the day.

He's dreaming, and, any moment now, he's going to wake up next to Steve - the past five months will have been nothing but a terrible nightmare, because he's dreaming.

But, he's not dreaming, and the doctor's not listening and Danny watches as the man wraps his fingers around the unbeating heart and squeezes. Presses a hand to his own chest, and feels nothing.

"Either move out of my way, Eileen, or help," the doctor says. "I'm not losing another one tonight."

They stare at each other, the doctor and the nurse, for several tense seconds, the doctor never faltering in his massage of Danny's dead heart. Finally, with a curt nod, Eileen starts to work the bag, pushing much needed oxygen into Danny's lungs every so often.

And, above it all, feeling like a chicken with its head cut off, Danny watches. He thinks that there must be something that he's forgetting to do, something he should be doing, something he's heard on one of those late night TV shows he'd had on for background noise when he couldn't sleep, but nothing comes to mind.

"I'll give you five minutes, doctor," she says, eye on the clock. "And then you call it."

The doctor nods, keeps up with the massage. His eyes are locked, not on the clock, or the nurse, but on Danny's face.

"Someone, find that bleeder," the doctor says, and the other two doctors scramble to work on the dead man. "Plug the hole."

"We can't save them all, John," Eileen says, her voice gentling. "He's been in cardiac rest since before he arrived at our E.R.."

"But the paramedics got him back," John says, wiping sweat off his brow with his shoulder.

"And then he crashed," Eileen remains persistent. "We can't -"

"Damn it, Eileen." John looks up, briefly, and Danny can see determination in the doctor's eyes. "I'm not going to lose this one."

Eileen arches a brow, but says nothing, just keeps up with the manual act of breathing for Danny, with her eye on the clock. It's clear to Danny that she's not hopeful, that Eileen thinks John's being foolish, and wasting valuable time.

Danny can't help but think that maybe she's right, because he doesn't feel any connection to his own body. Has no intense desire to hop back into it, and there's no distinct pull for him to return to the land of the living.

Funny, he doesn't _feel _dead. But, then again, he doesn't _feel_ anything, not the stubborn doctor's hand on his heart, or the other doctors' hands inside of his chest, nor the air being pushed, begrudgingly into his lungs.

There's simply nothing. Just a longing for Steve, a guilty twist of the gut when he thinks about his daughter, Grace.

He chances a look around the room, half fearful of what he'll see, and is only mildly relieved when he doesn't see a tunnel or a light anywhere in the room. It's just him, Eileen, John and a couple of other doctors and nurses scurrying around, trying to save lives.

The minute hand inches one tick closer to the mark Eileen has set, and suddenly Danny's simply gone.


	75. Nightmare

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** The second of the simultaneous chapters.

* * *

><p>Steve wakes with a start, heart racing, palms sweating. Chin's staring at the screen of the borrowed laptop, frowning, face eerily lit by the soft, bluish glow of the monitor. Kono's snoring, face pressed against the window of the plane, a thin line of drool making a trail from the corner of her lip to her chin. But Steve's mind doesn't register any of this because of the horrific vision that his mind's still trapped in.<p>

It's not until the plane jerks and shakes a little, that Steve realizes that he had been sleeping - that he hadn't, seconds ago, been at a hospital, identifying Danny's body to some faceless medical examiner. He closes his eyes, presses his fingertips to his temples and wills his heart to slow down, because it had only been a dream.

It had only been a dream, and yet Steve can't seem to shake it. Can't get the image of Danny that his subconscious had supplied for him out of his mind. Lips a light, purplish blue. Skin a sickly grey, and powdery. Blue eyes open and dull in death, covered by a thick, milky white film.

Danny's chest's cracked open still - the medical examiner having just finished the autopsy, determining the cause of death to be multiple gunshot wounds -heart and lungs displayed for all to see; ribs broken and pried apart, the edges of the bones sharp enough to cut through skin.

Steve had stood there, in his dream, struck dumb, unable to move forward. Unable to identify the body that was laying on the cold, metal table, even though he knew that it was Danny.

Without even needing to look at the body, Steve had known. Had known it as his feet had led him, inexorably, down the long, dark hallway that ended abruptly in front of the gurney that Danny's body was lying on. Had felt a keen sense of loss - like a thousand punches to the gut - before the blood-stained sheet had been lifted and Danny's face - his broken body - had been revealed.

He'd almost gagged, almost fell, had stumbled forward and clutched the edge of the silver gurney. Flooded by the horrible sense that he'd been too late, Steve had simply stood there and stared.

It had felt so real. The details had been so vivid - Steve had even been able to smell the antiseptic of the hospital, the unmistakable stench of death. The bright hospital lights had even flickered overhead, had burned his eyes, made him blink rapidly to keep the black spots from dancing in front of them.

"Steve," Chin whispers, placing a hand on Steve's arm, grounding him. "You alright?"

Steve scrubs a hand down his face, swallows past a lump in his throat, and nods. Except, he's not alright. Still feels the keen sense of loss that he'd felt during the dream. The nightmare. Wonders if it means what he fears it does - that Danny's dead.

"It'll be okay," Chin says. "We're landing in little under an hour. We'll find him."

"I just hope it's not too late when we do," Steve says, rubbing his eyes. He's tired, and his head aches, and he can't get the image of Danny, cold, dead and broken, out of his mind.

"Wha-" Kono wakes with a snort, and then frowns, wipes at the drool on her mouth. She rubs her spittle on Steve's sleeve, and grins at him when he scowls at her.

"We there yet?" she asks, wiping the sleep from her eyes and yawning.

In other circumstances, Steve might be inclined to find something like that endearing, but he's still got an image of Danny's dead body in his mind and that's warping everything else. Making him on edge.

"What's wrong?" Kono asks, picking up on Steve's mood.

"Nightmare," Chin supplies, leaning forward so that he can catch his cousin's eye around Steve.

"About Danny?" Kono turns concerned eyes on Steve, all traces of sleep gone from her face as she sweeps her hair up into a ponytail.

Steve clenches his jaw and nods. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to think about it. He just wants the plane to land so that he can get to Danny before his dream comes true. Though Steve knows that his presence alone won't be enough to keep Danny alive, he thinks that it will help give Danny a fighting chance, has to believe that it will. That Danny won't give up when he knows that Steve is there, by his side.

"I'm sorry, Steve," Kono says, and she reaches for his hand, holds it. "We're going to get him back." Her voice is fierce and sure, all the things that Steve is not right now. He's lost and floundering and completely at sea. Has been that way since Danny's left, but has been too stubborn and prideful to admit it.

"I can't lose him," Steve says, hating how vulnerable the confession makes him feel, and how he fears that, in many ways, he already has lost Danny. First to the box, and now to this, whatever the hell _this i_s.

Kono squeezes his hand. "You won't," she promises, and there are tears in her eyes.

"And, this time, when we get our Danny back, he won't be leaving us again," Kono states the words as though they are non-negotiable, as though no one else has any say, including Danny himself.

"And you two are going to have to stop being so bullheaded," Kono adds, smacking Steve's shoulder. "I can't go through something like this again. I can't, and neither can Chin. I know that you think that what you and Danny have going on is just between the two of you, but it isn't. Not by a long shot. You're family. Danny's family. Whatever hurts you, hurts _us_." Kono squeezes Steve's hand to emphasize her words, and he almost winces.

Steve opens his mouth to protest, but he snaps it shut again when he looks to Chin and finds the man nodding soberly.

"She's right. I care about you, and I care about Danny. The two of you are like water and oil half the time, but for some reason it works. You work. When one of you is gone; however, the other is lost. You can't stand alone, and neither can Danny," Chin says. "You need each other, and the sooner both of you realize that, the better off all of us will be."

"No more not talking," Kono says, poking Steve in the gut. "No more brooding." Another poke. "No more being stoic and stupid." Two more pokes, and Steve feels like a pincushion. He catches Kono's wrist before she can poke him again, and glares at her.

"I -" Steve opens his mouth to protest, because what he does, how he chooses to handle his relationships, is not anyone else's business, but his own.

"No, Steve," Chin says. "This isn't just about you. It has never been just about you and Danny. This is about o'hana, about our task force. It's as much about Kono and I as it is about you and Danny. When one of us is hurting, all of us is hurting. And as my little cousin is trying to say, enough is enough. Cut out all of this macho crap and tell Danny that you need him, and that, no matter what, you'll be there for him. Once you get him back, and you will get him back, don't let him go."

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and locks his jaw. He glares straight ahead, because right now he doesn't want to look at either of the cousins. He knows they're right, that, he, as much as Danny, is to blame for what's happened - he could have, should have, gone after Danny when the man had left.

At the time, he'd reasoned that he'd just been giving Danny his space, that Danny would come back to him when he was ready. The problem was, Danny hadn't come back, and Steve had let the pain and anger over Danny running away from him fester until it had grown into something ugly. Something that he didn't even want to look at, let alone confess to anyone, not even himself.

He'd thrown himself into harm's way when he'd chased down Silva. Had thrown Chin and Kono into harm's way as well, and the entire time, he'd blamed Danny for it. Had blamed Danny for every stupid chance that he'd taken, for every foolish thing he'd said and done since Danny had left - and there had been plenty of those, aside from the Silva case.

In short, Steve had blamed Danny for everything, and had justified not calling to check up on the man because of it. He'd take that worn note of Danny's out of his pocket and re-read it after doing something particularly stupid, fold it up again and let his heart grow hard, vow not to make that phone call, even though his fingers were itching to, because he'd wanted Danny to break first. He'd spent the past five or so months waiting for Danny to break, and then had been angry when Danny hadn't broken before he had.

And now? Now, Danny might be dead.

"I know he hurt you, Steve," Chin says, his voice soft. "But now's not the time to revisit the past. You've got to decide what you're going to do from here on out."

"And if Danny doesn't want anything to do with me?" Steve asks, not wanting to voice his fear that Danny's dead.

"Then you've got to decide how you're going to go on living the rest of your life without him," Chin says. His voice is soft and strained, and Steve knows that he's thinking about Malia, and he wants to kick himself, because of what he and Danny, in their stubborn pride, have inadvertently put the older man through.

"I'm sorry, Chin," Steve says.

"If you get another chance with Danny," Chin says, voice cracking. "Don't blow it. Don't be as stubborn and pigheaded as I was with Malia. Don't let your pride, or his pride, get in the way. You've given Danny his space, and maybe he needed it. Don't make the same mistake as I did, Steve. Don't let Danny go without a fight."

"Whatever time you have left with Danny," Kono adds softly. "Treasure it. Don't take it for granted, no matter how much or little of it you get."

Steve knows that her own heart is raw and aching, and he wants to rewind time. Wants to undo what's been done. Wants to chase after Danny when he'd had the chance. Wants to tell Danny that he needs him, has always needed him, and that Danny doesn't have to be perfect. He doesn't have to hide away those dark places inside of himself, doesn't need to run away to get the space that he needs, because Steve is willing to give it to him, all he has to do is ask.

Except, it's too late, and Steve can't rewind time. Can't quite shake the nightmarish image of Danny dead, blue eyes open and staring at nothing, that his dream had given him.

"There's no time for regrets," Chin says. "You'll waste opportunity and life if you give them a foothold."

Steve nods. He knows Chin and Kono are right. He only hopes that he will have that opportunity, that second chance, to make things right. To tell Danny that he loves him, and to never let him go.

Steve is reminded of the old adage: "If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it was meant to be."

He'd seen it on a butterfly poster once, a long time ago. As a matter of fact, it had been on a wall in Mary's room, and she'd espoused the veracity of the saying. Had bemoaned some lost love, but then written it off as something that was not, 'meant to be,' because her love of the week had not come back to her. Steve had thought it silly at the time, had teased her over it, but hadn't he done that same thing with Danny?

_Fuck that butterfly shit_, Steve thinks_. _Butterflies are fickle, flighty creatures. Letting them go doesn't ensure that they'll ever be back, because it's in their nature to follow the wind and their own whims. Danny's nothing like them, and love should never be let go of in the first place. It should be held onto, in a tight fist, for as long as one can hold onto it.


	76. Deep

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** I wanted to finish this chapter, so I did. Not sure if anyone is still reading this...

* * *

><p>Chin doesn't like what he's finding when he looks into Danny's undercover operation - more like disappearance - opts not to share what he's found with Steve, or Kono, just yet. It'd just get their blood boiling, and it's not important right now. Not something that either of them need to get worked up about right now.<p>

What _is_ important is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to too many machines to keep track of.

Steve's sitting in a chair beside Danny's bed, his hand linked with one of Danny's, forehead pressed to the cool metal of the bed's railing. He hasn't eaten, hasn't slept, hasn't moved a muscle since they got there a couple of hours ago, and Chin gives him twenty, maybe forty minutes tops before Steve finally has to answer the call of nature.

The doctor who'd brought Danny back to life had apparently performed nothing short of a miracle, if the hospital gossip is to be believed, and, looking at Danny so still and pale, a shadow of his former self, Chin's inclined to believe the gossip.

Danny's chest is a mess held together with nothing but staples and surgical tape. His skin's just one shade short of being blue, and his hair...it's short and dark, cropped a lot like Steve wears his.

The hair was the first thing that Chin had noted about Danny when they'd found him, though it shouldn't have been. Not when stacked against all of the other differences - the tattoo that Danny's sporting on his bicep, some military thing according to Steve; the new scar, months old, that goes from Danny's temple to his jaw; Danny's overall thinness that makes him look more sickly than lean at the moment.

It's clear to Chin that Danny's a different man, and he wonders what will happen if - when - Danny wakes up. The doctor hadn't made any promises about Danny's recovery, had been hesitant to tell them anything until he'd seen Steve's knees buckle on his approach to Danny's side. The doctor had made assumptions at that point, and Chin had let him, hadn't bothered to initiate their cover, because no one else appeared to be lurking around the hospital, looking for Danny.

It hadn't been easy finding Danny. He'd been listed at the hospital as a John Doe, because there'd been no ID on him, and the paramedics who'd brought him in had been strapped for time, hadn't been able to shed any light on who the man was as they were on their way to another call.

Oddly, it had been Kono who'd found Danny first, and she'd stood, rooted to the spot outside of the room that Danny shared with another John Doe. A small, horrified sounding squeak had issued from her mouth, and she'd instantly clapped a hand over it, her eyes brimming with tears. Chin wondered how she'd recognized the man. Hadn't questioned her. Steve had rushed into the room. Hadn't moved since.

"Steve, why don't you go get a bite to eat," Chin suggests softly, hand on Steve's shoulder, drawing the man's attention away from Danny for a brief moment.

There's a puzzled, almost disconnected look on Steve's face, like the man doesn't recognize him, and Steve takes a deep breath, shakes his head, turns his eyes back to Danny.

"I'm good," Steve says, voice gravelly.

"Steve, I'll sit with him," Chin insists, forces Steve to look at him. "Go, eat, stretch your legs, shower. Take a few minutes for yourself. I'll keep an eye on him."

They're not using Danny's name, just in case someone is looking for him. Chin still hasn't learned the full details of Danny's undercover assignment. He's uncovered a few things, and doesn't like what he's found - dirty cops and mobsters, and a corrupt police chief.

It's clear, in what he hasn't found, that Danny was neck deep in something that someone was willing to kill him for - _had_ almost killed him for - and Chin isn't sure whether Danny knew everything that was going on or not. Just how far undercover _was _Danny? Chin wonders.

A call to the governor had ensured that they had the time off - a leave of absence, with pay, not an indefinite amount of time, but time. He was giving them a few weeks to bring Danny back.

Danny wasn't going to be ready to return to Hawaii in a few weeks. Might not be ready to return to Hawaii, ever.

"Steve, take a break," Chin says, pulls Steve upright, ignores the way that Steve falters on his feet. "Get something to eat, take a shower. He'll be here when you get back. Promise."

Steve doesn't move. Stands there, a crestfallen look on his face. He's still clutching Danny's hand, and Chin doesn't think he's seen the man look as broken as he does now.

"Steve..." Chin looks toward his cousin for help. Kono's sitting in a chair on the opposite side of Danny. They'd earned a private room for Danny in the ICU, after Chin had quietly explained a little of the situation to the doctor. Given Steve's very real devastation, the doctor had needed very little by way of convincing.

Kono stands, stretches, works the kinks out of her backs, stifles a yawn with the back of her hand. She walks over to them, eyes locked on Steve, she reaches for the hand that he's got linked with Danny's, tugs it loose.

"I..." Steve closes his eyes, his face crumpling.

"Steve, he isn't going anywhere," Kono says, her words stronger than Chin feels at this moment.

"I just..." Steve's eyes are filled with tears, and it's so unlike him that Chin feels like he's been sucker punched.

"He's not going to die just because you leave to take a piss," Kono says, her voice teasing, and yet hard.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and gives Kono a stricken look. It feels, to Chin, like the world is turning in the opposite direction and he doesn't like it.

"I know," he says, but the way that he's looking at Danny proves to Chin that Steve doesn't know that at all.

"Steve," Chin tries again, places a hand on Steve's back, attempts to steer him toward the door. "Kono and I won't let anything happen to him."

"I..." Steve opens his mouth, closes it, lets Chin guide him away from Danny, though he cranes his neck, keeps his eyes on Danny until the door shuts behind him.

"I understand, Steve," Chin says, and he does. Knows that if it was Malia in there, no one would be able to tear him away from her side; feels like an ass for pulling Steve from Danny's side, knows that he'd have wanted Steve, or Danny, to do the same for him, had their roles been reversed.

"I can't stop thinking about how stupid I was," Steve says. "How stupid he was for doing this."

"Beating yourself up over what happened isn't going to fix it." Chin wishes that he wasn't speaking from experience. "Right now, you need to take care of yourself, so that you can take care of him when the time comes. And this time -"

"I'm not letting him go," Steve says, voice hard, jaw squared. "I won't make that mistake again."

"Steve, he made the choice to leave. You couldn't have stopped him," Chin says, remembering when he'd made that choice with Malia. How hard it had been for him to do that, and how, after they'd reconciled, the separation had, indeed, as the saying goes, made the heart grow fonder.

"I don't know what to do." Steve sounds lost, almost like a child. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

"For now, wash up, get something to eat, and then go back, sit beside him and wait, but, don't give up hope," Chin says. He wishes that his own hope hadn't died, but doesn't begrudge Steve Danny.

Steve nods, lets Chin lead him away from Danny's room.

"You find anything out about what he was doing here?" Steve asks, jaw twitching.

Chin nods, holds a hand up to forestall a barrage of questions. "It can wait. I'm still looking into it, but it looks like he was in pretty deep. We'll need to stay alert. Take turns keeping watch."

"I just want to gather him up and take him home," Steve says tiredly.

Chin doesn't blame him. It would make it easier for them to keep Danny safe, but he doubts Danny, in his current condition, would survive the journey.

"I know," Chin says, keeping his voice light. "Soon, Steve."

"Think he'll want to come back?" Steve isn't looking at him. He's staring straight ahead, and Chin gets the impression that Steve's steeling himself for the answer.

"Yeah," Chin says. "I think he will." He's not placating the man. Is banking on the fact that, with his dying breath, Danny's call to Steve is proof enough of Danny's desire to return home, return to Steve.

Steve sighs, nods, and Chin hopes that he's not wrong. That he hasn't built Steve up, only to have the world come crashing down around him again.


	77. Long Road Ahead

**Disclaimer: See initial chapter.**

**A/N: **Inspired, toward the end, by Kevin MacLeod's, "Long Road Ahead."

Again...stream-of-consciousness seems to be how Danny's side of the story wants to be told.

I feel like Steve would say Danny's name at this point, that, after a week and a half, they would have made some progress on figuring out some details of the undercover operation that Danny was involved in, and have a plan to keep Danny safe. None of this is actually written in this chapter, so, I thought I would announce that...just so people don't think that I'm unaware of what I wrote in the previous chapter about Steve, Chin and Kono not saying Danny's name.

I hope that you enjoy this chapter. As per usual, I am worried about whether or not it is good. (please forgive any grammatical, or medical errors that you find herein) Mahalo

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><p>It's a familiar dream. One that Danny's had dozens - thousands - of times.<p>

It always starts the same.

With Steve.

Sitting beside him, touching, talking - his words indistinct, mere murmurs that tickle at Danny's ears, but don't actually make sense.

Pressing soft kisses to his face, his collarbone, Steve's lips - warm, dry, rough like sandpaper. His breath a comfort that keeps Danny grounded, helps him stay sane. Takes away the pain.

Reminds him of home.

The dream ends the same, too.

With Danny.

Alone.

Cold.

Confused.

It's never satisfying.

Always leaves him wanting more.

Feeling like he's being burnt alive.

Trying to hang onto sanity, like he's carrying water, uphill, in a sieve, Danny waits in the dark-nothing that comes when Steve's part in this unending dream is over.

And he misses Steve so much that his heart actually hurts. Feels like his chest's been cracked open, his heart plucked out and squeezed tight enough to make it bruise.

Makes him wonder if his mind is stuck on some kind of endless loop. A dream that's going to play over and over again until he finally dies.

He's Bill Murray, and Steve's Andie MacDowell. And, somewhere, lurking in its deep, dark hole, ready to pop up at any time, is Punxsutawney Phil.

It's not a comforting thought, but then Steve's there.

Again.

Lips brushing Danny's forehead, featherlight, like the butterfly kisses that Danny shares with Grace.

Steve's hand is solid and strong, grips Danny's hand so tight that Danny thinks, maybe, if Steve could hold onto him for just a little while longer, the man could pull him right out of this dream.

End the loop once and for all.

Give good old Phil a run for his money. No more lonely, hard, cold winter nights for Danny.

But then, Steve's hand slips away; his grip not as solid as Danny'd thought it was.

And that's when he remembers. His next sharp breath, making it impossible for him to forget, because his lungs are filled with acid, and he's a stupid, selfish asshole.

He left.

Steve's not here.

Steve's in Hawaii. Stuffing live grenades in glove compartments, swimming nude beneath the cool light of the moon, fucking someone else - Catherine, or Chin, or maybe that hot waitress who'd caught both of their eye that one night not too long-forever-ago now.

Danny's mind reels.

His head aches.

His heart feels like it's bleeding, and he wonders that he can feel anything at all, because dead men don't think. Don't feel. Don't dream.

"_Danno." _The name, Steve's voice, comes to Danny from thousands of miles away.

Floats on the waters, flies with the winds. Gets lost in the space between there and here, and yet it finds him.

It's insistent.

Steve's voice.

Says his name again.

"_Danno."_

And again-again-again...

Until it's one long, drawn out, neverending word that Danny thinks he'll never stop hearing.

"_DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."_

Danny sighs. Tries to turn away from the sound of Steve's voice, because, as much as he hates this unending dream, he's still tired, and his body still aches, and Steve is such an early riser.

Danny likes to sleep in. Likes to eat fresh malasadas from Leonard's Bakery, downtown, while they're still hot enough to burn his fingers, turn the tips of them red. And he likes to suck off the cinnamon sugar mixture, loves to offer his sugary fingers to Steve, who, no matter what his stance on 'junk food' is, never turns them down.

"_C'mon, Danno."_ Steve's voice is an annoying alarm clock, or the rooster that lives two houses down from Steve's. Danny wants to shoot it, but Steve won't let him.

There's no pillow to pull over his head in death, and Danny can't escape the sound of Steve's voice. Wonders, briefly, why he'd want to, because he thinks that maybe this is his little bit of heaven in Hell.

"_Danno."_

_Steve._ Danny thinks he says the name. Doesn't know if it made it past his lips. Doesn't know what his lips feel like, if they even exist anymore. Do lips exist in death?

"_Danno, you're not dead."_

Steve's always had a hard time accepting cold, hard facts. Refuses to give up on lost causes. Like a dog after a bone. Scratch that, like a smooth dog after a bone.

"_Very funny, Danny."_

Steve's amused. It takes a lot to make him laugh. And it's usually not stupid jokes - Danny's spot-on imitation of the Governor, when he knows the man's not looking; a well-timed punchline; a tongue-in-cheek pun - that make Steve laugh. No, it's candid moments - times when Danny's least aware that Steve's watching him - that make the man smile, or give rise to laughter.

Press of lips to Danny's forehead, soft, yet firm squeeze of fingers. Steve's chin is scratchy, his hand's warm.

"_Yeah, I need to shave, Danno."_

Steve's voice is rough.

Closer.

"_And, you, need to wake up."_

Danny wants five more minutes. Maybe five more years.

"_None of that, D."_

Steve's fingers grip Danny's chin, and, and, and...Danny can't breathe, because Steve's eyes - hazel, rimmed with red - are staring at him. Lips slightly parted, quirked upward at the edges.

Steve's got the most beautiful smile in the world, and Danny can't tear his eyes away from the man's face, drinks in Steve's eyes, the scruffy not-quite beard that's clinging to the man's chin, and Steve's lips.

"Breathe, Danno," Steve's lips move.

Danny can hear him.

Understands, even.

But he can't breathe, because this isn't his dream.

Steve is real. His fingers, his lips, his furrowed brows.

Steve is real, and Danny isn't dead.

Or maybe he _is_ dead, and Steve is haunting him.

That would be quite a twist for someone to write - the dead being haunted by the living. Turning the supernatural world on its head, or its ass. Either way, it's making Danny dizzy, and he still can't breathe.

"Hey." Steve cups Danny's cheeks with his hands, leans in close, and Danny can see worry lines etched around the man's eyes and mouth. "Take it easy, Danno. You're okay."

You're..."real?" Danny meant to voice both words, can only hear one of them.

"Yeah, D, I'm real." Steve's lips turn upward, a smile that's accompanied by a quick, chaste kiss that Steve plants on his nose.

"I've got to move over so the doctor can take a look at you," Steve says, and Danny struggles to keep his eyes open, struggles not to lose the tentative hold that he's got on the world of the living - Steve's hand, snagged in his own when the man moves to leave.

"Shh, hey." Steve's face looms in front of him, and Danny doesn't care if he looks like the world's biggest baby right now. He can feel the tears leaking from his eyes, and he refuses to let go of Steve, not now that he knows that Steve isn't a dream.

"Stay." And Danny thinks he should recognize that voice, he can't quite place it. "I'll work around you. Keep him calm. Keep talking to him."

"It's good that he's awake, right?" Steve's not looking at him, not talking to him, and Danny tugs on Steve's hand, draws Steve's attention back to him, because he needs it. Danny needs Steve. Needs to know that this is real. That he's not dead. That this isn't dream-Steve.

"It's a very good sign." The voice Danny knows, but doesn't know, says. "He's not out of the woods yet, though."

"But he's awake." Steve's got that stubborn, constipated look on his face. Danny wants to laugh; can't find breath enough to do it.

"Yes, but..."

"That means he's better," Steve insists, eyes staring intently into Danny's, as though he's arguing with Danny and not the doctor.

The doctor sighs, and Danny catches a glimpse of the man running a hand through his untidy hair. The doctor nods, and takes a deep breath.

"Better, yes," the doctor says, and Danny thinks that maybe his name is John. He sounds tired.

Steve's grin makes Danny's heart jump into his throat, and damn, but that hurts.

Alive.

Definitely alive.

Alive and in pain.

"Easy," the doctor's face usurps Steve's, though Danny doesn't relinquish the hold that he's got on Steve's fingers. "You're recovering from an open-heart massage, and thoracic surgery. Just focus on your partner, focus on breathing, okay?"

Danny swallows, nods, catches Steve's eye over the doctor's head.

He goes momentarily blind, though, when the doctor starts to examine him. Can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything other than try to ride out the intense pain.

"What the hell?" Steve's voice is a beacon, and Danny focuses on it.

"I'll administer something for the pain," the doctor, John, says, though he doesn't stop his painful examination.

When the pain becomes too much to bear, Danny places willfully himself in the box he'd so despised what now seems like a lifetime ago.

Feels Steve's fingers, even in the box, which is far better than the pain right now. Listens for Steve's voice.

The pain ebbs, slightly. It's still there, somewhere at the back of Danny's mind, but it's no longer blinding him, no longer making it impossible for him to breathe, and he wonders if this is what it means to compartmentalize. If this is similar to what Steve does whenever he gets injured. If this is what makes Steve appear to be super human at times.

"You okay, Danno?" Steve's there, inside the box. His eyes are sharp, alert, comforting.

"Fine," Danny manages, breathes a little easier when Steve squeezes his hand.

"Almost done here."

Danny's ninety percent sure that the doctor's name is John. Remembers, he thinks, the man literally holding his heart in his hands, making it beat again.

"Thank you," Danny says, forcing himself to look away from Steve for a split second, so that John will understand that he's talking to him, and not the imposing man towering over the both of them.

"Just doing my job," John says, sparing Danny a brief smile, before adjusting something on one of the machines that Danny's hooked up to.

Danny knows that it was more than that. That John saved his life. That, if it had been any other doctor in the ER that day, he'd be dead. He wouldn't have a second chance with Steve. Wouldn't have a chance to make things right.

A sudden spike of pain causes Danny to lose his focus, and he nearly doubles over, but then, almost as suddenly as it hit him, it's gone. Steve is there, coaxing him to breathe through the pain, one hand on Danny's shoulder, the other still gripping Danny's hand tight enough to make Danny's fingers go numb.

"Alright," John says. "I'm done here."

Danny can see the shadows under the man's eyes. Knows that John is probably burning the candle at both ends. Still, he offers Danny and Steve a smile.

"You know, for a man who was dead a week and a half ago, you're doing surprisingly well." He pats Danny's knee, and presses a button near Danny's hand, and the pain subsides.

"You should get some rest," John says. He's looking at Steve, squeezes Danny's knee. "I'm not going to lie to you; you've got a long way to go yet, and it won't be easy."

Steve frowns and nods. "I'll be with you the whole way," he says, voice quiet, and strained. "That is, if you'll let me."

There's a measure of doubt in Steve's eyes, and Danny's heart clenches. He swallows past the sudden lump that's formed in his throat and nods. Works at forming the necessary words, the apologies that have been a long time in coming, but he's swiftly overcome with exhaustion - whatever pain medication the doctor had administered with the press of a button is working fast - his eyelids droop, and the words get stuck somewhere at the back of his throat.

"It's okay, Danno, sleep," Steve says, a hand pressed to Danny's cheek, the other still gripping Danny's hand tight. "I'll be here when you wake."

It's a promise.

Something for Danny to cling to.

He's missed Steve. Missed what a simple touch from the man that he loves can do - how much warmth and healing it can bring. He falls asleep, knows that it _is _sleep he's falling into and not death.

Feels the press of Steve's lips to his forehead, his lips, his fingers. Knows that, like the doctor said, he's still got a long road ahead of him, but that he won't have to walk that road alone, no matter how much he deserves to.


	78. Penny Thoughts

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter

**A/N:** I've been working on the next three chapters, one right after the other. The third one's proving to be tricky. Hopefully I can get that one hammered out today. Thanks to those of you who are reading, and double-thanks to those who are leaving me encouragement. :-)

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><p>The box had nearly claimed his life, and now Danny finds himself taking refuge in it, whenever the pain becomes too much - his mind's very close approximation of it, that is, he knows it's not real. Not anymore.<p>

It's odd and mildly disturbing how easy it is for his mind to conjure up the walls that he'd hated so much. The very walls that had driven a wedge between him and Steve, were now a place of refuge in Danny's mind.

"Penny for your thoughts," Kono says, voice bright. Danny can see the pent up energy thrumming through her veins in the way that her right leg is bouncing, her left hand twitching in her lap.

"Just thinking," Danny says.

"About what?" Kono practically jumps out of the chair Steve had vacated an hour and a half ago, and skips to his side. It's almost overwhelming, how much energy the young woman has, in spite of the dark circles she's got beneath her eyes.

Danny shrugs, uncertain about sharing any of this with Kono. He isn't entirely sure how to put it into words, wants to talk it over with Steve first, see if he's going crazy.

Kono purses her lips in a pout and tugs her hair up into a loose ponytail. Danny's fingers itch to fix it, to pull the strangling pieces in and bind them within the rubber band Kono had used to secure her hair with. He misses Grace.

Kono sighs, a little over dramatically, and jumps up onto the edge of Danny's hospital bed. He hisses in pain, and she sends him a brief, apologetic look that is soon surpassed by a smile.

"I'm bored," Kono says, sighing again.

She plays with a thread on her cargo pants, works it free and dangles it in the air before letting it go and watching it float to the floor, eyes squinting in concentration. She nearly falls off the edge of the bed, and Danny catches the back of her shirt with a hand, breathes through the pain that cuts across his chest at the move.

"Sorry, Danny," Kono says, face flushing, loose strands of hair fanning her face. "I'm..."

"Bored," Danny breathes out once he catches his breath. "Why don't you go take a walk, get me something real for lunch?"

Danny's not too hopeful that Kono will take him up on the offer. It's her turn to guard him. Chin and Steve are chasing down a lead, investigating further what little information that Danny could give them on the shooting.

The smile drops from Kono's face, and she shakes her head, causing even more hair to spill from her hastily constructed ponytail. There's more out of it than in it now, and Danny resists the urge to lever himself up into a sitting position - it's easy, just the press of a button - and fix the young officer's hair. She's a grown woman, not a child. Danny doubts that Kono would appreciate his interference with her grooming. Would probably brush him off and remind him that he's not her father. He's never felt so old.

"Not gonna happen," she says, pats him on the knee.

"Fine," Danny says, shrugs, because that's about as animated as he can get without hurting himself. "Be bored."

Kono laughs. It's straight from her belly, throaty sounding, and Danny realizes that he's missed that sound. Laughter hadn't been on the long list of things that he'd missed while he'd been undercover. It is now. That, and smiles. And lectures from Chin, which consisted of few words, but were all the more powerful for the economy of them.

When Chin had spoken with him, just a few days ago, about his selfish, foolish act of running away, Danny's conscience had smarted. Chin had painted a poignant picture of the agony Danny's decision had caused, not only Steve, but also Kono and Chin. It had lasted all of five, maybe six minutes, but Danny had spent the rest of the day in quiet solitude,thinking on what Chin had said. In the end, he'd come to the conclusion that Chin was right - he'd run away, from Steve, from himself, and he'd only made a mess of things, because he'd been unwilling to face what had pained him head on, and with the willing help of friends.

"I wouldn't _be_ bored if you'd tell me what's on your mind," Kono says in exasperation, throwing her hands up in the air.

Danny knows that her mind's really on Chin and Steve, that it's not boredom that's gnawing at her gut and chest, but worry. The same worry that's keeping Danny awake when his body's begging him to rest.

"Fine," Danny says, as much for his own benefit as hers. "I...I keep rebuilding the walls of the box, in my mind, when..." he's looking at his hands, can feel his cheeks heating up from fear and embarrassment, from shame. His heart hammers painfully in his chest.

"When the pain becomes too much," Danny quietly confesses.

When he finally gathers the courage to look at Kono, instead of the look of horror or deep disgust he half expects to see on her face, he sees a look of sympathetic understanding. There is far too much wisdom in her eyes. She's too young, too unseasoned to understand something like this.

"What was it like?" Kono's voice is subdued, her eyes sad yet curious.

"It was all of my worst nightmares, rolled into one," Danny whispers, after a pause.

He plucks at a loose thread on his blanket, focuses on it, almost to the exclusion of everything else, can feel the now imaginary walls of the box closing in on him. Doesn't want them to.

Kono reaches for his hand, pulls his attention away from the thread, the box that is threatening to take him back into its claustrophobic embrace. He wants Steve.

"Danny, I'm sorry," Kono says. She bites her lip, takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I shouldn't have asked."

Danny shakes his head hard enough to make himself dizzy, squeezes Kono's hand. "No, it's okay." His voice is rough, his throat tight, like the walls of the box.

"It was..." Danny's not sure how to put it all into words. They're there, but spinning around in his head, and he's got to stop them from spinning in order to give voice to them.

He'd been unable to explain what it was like to the psychiatrists, to Steve. He hadn't been ready then, but, he realizes with a start, that he's ready now. Heart beating out a frantic pace, palms sweaty and trembling, ice in his veins, gut twisted, the words stop spinning, and he's ready to talk. There's a part of him that knows it isn't fair to Kono, that she shouldn't have to bear witness to this, but her hand is warm and her eyes are encouraging Danny to speak.

"I thought I was going to die," he confesses. "I'd started to question my very existence, you know?"

Though she couldn't possibly know, Kono nods, encourages him to continue speaking with a gentle squeeze of his hand.

"I blamed Steve," Danny's heart stills at the confession, his ears ring, but he hurries on to add, "and then I started thinking that maybe I wasn't real, that Steve, and you, and Chin...that none of you, none of _us_, was real. That the only thing that was real, the only thing that existed was the...the box."

"Like you didn't exist outside of the box?" Kono asks, voice quiet, subdued. Her hand is holding Danny's so tight that it almost feels like she was there, in that box, with him.

Danny nods. "I thought that I'd imagined the life I'd had outside of the box. That I'd imagined Steve. That Grace wasn't real, that I...that my whole life was that box. I hated it, hated the memories of life that I had outside of it, because I knew, at some point, that they weren't real. That the only thing that was real was the box. I was the box, the box was me."

Danny laughs, because his thoughts, spoken aloud like that, don't make sense. They're the ramblings of a crazy man.

"Is that why you left?" Kono asks, running her thumb beneath Danny's eyes, brushing aside tears he hadn't noticed were falling. "Because you...you feared we weren't real?"

Danny shakes his head, nods, because, really, it's a little of both, and he isn't sure. "I didn't think it was fair to Steve. I was so angry with him for..."

"For not finding you sooner, for letting those men get to you in the first place, for..."

"Putting me in the box," Danny hisses the guilty words. "I know, here," Danny presses a hand to his chest, "that it wasn't Steve's fault. I'm just having a hard time convincing this," he taps his temple with his forefinger.

Kono nods, leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. "You've always been a little hardheaded, Danny. You and Steve both. Sometimes I just want to knock your heads together." She sounds wistful.

"You sound like Chin," Danny grumbles, presses his fingers to the spot on his cheek Kono had kissed.

"Well." She shrugs, tucks a leg beneath herself, getting comfortable beside him. "It's true. I've never met anyone as stubborn as you two, and..." she holds up a finger when Danny opens his mouth. He shuts it with an audible snap.

"I come from a long line of stubbornness. Take Chin, for instance." Kono rolls her eyes, and Danny chuckles, feels some of the ache in his chest lessen.

"One would think that the sun and the moon obey the sound of his voice, to hear him talk," Kono adds.

"Kono," she lowers her voice in an imitation of her cousin's. It's surprisingly accurate as exaggerated as it is. There's a severe look on her face that makes Danny laugh, because it does remind Danny of Chin. "There are protocol to follow when..."

A throat clears from behind them, and Kono nearly falls from her perch, her eyes going wide. Danny clutches at her, to keep her from falling, gasps at the flare of pain that it causes him. It feels like his chest is being ripped open, again.


	79. Mickey Ain't Dead

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter. Nothing's changed.

**A/N:** So, I've been sitting on this chapter for a week now, and I knew it wasn't ready. I was finally able to focus on it again today, and, well, I think Kono might've accidentally, on purpose, brainwashed Danny. I hope that this chapter doesn't seem stupid or inane, or read like I'm on drugs (strictly Bayer aspirin and sugar right now). Please forgive me if it does. Yes, I know, it's about Steve and Danny and getting them together - ho oku i means come together - but right now the muse is more interested, apparently, in figuring out how to superglue them together with the help of their friends, so that they won't fall apart again. And I'm rambling.

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><p>"Gee...give...a...guy...a...heart...attack...would...you?" Danny jokes, between painful sounding gasps.<p>

He's got one hand wrapped around the bedrail, the other's clutching at his chest. Kono's slipped from the bed, keeping herself between the men who've stepped into the room, unannounced, and Danny. She reaches for her weapon, trying not to telegraph her move, her eyes locked on the four men who've entered the room, shutting the door behind them.

Steve, Chin and Kono have an agreed upon knock - three long, pause, one long, one short, one long knock if everything's okay (a modified Morse code), or three short, three long, three short if something's wrong. The doctors and nurses knock three times, at least.

There was no knock. No warning. No text giving Kono a head's up that there'd been a change in plans.

"Not funny, Danny," Steve's voice is hard, and Kono stands between him and Danny as he approaches the injured man. "Or, should I call you, Mickey?"

Kono ignores the raised eyebrow that Steve gives her, the gesture for her to stand down. There's something wrong, and she's not going to let Steve, and the strange men with him, near Danny. She breathes a little easier when Chin catches her eye and gives her a brief wink.

Whatever _is_ going on, Steve and Chin have it under control. Kono takes a step to the side. She's still close enough to Danny that she can protect him if it proves to be necessary. She hopes, though, that it won't be. She doesn't want to have to take on the well-armed men who've accompanied Chin and Steve into the room.

"Steve?" Danny's voice is small, and he struggles to sit up. Kono presses a hand to his shoulder and shakes her head.

"I wouldn't do that," she says. "Boss's not happy." She hopes she hasn't screwed things up, blown whatever cover Steve and Chin had established by calling Steve, 'boss.'

Danny stills, his eyes going wide when Steve stands in his line of vision. Steve's face is hard, lips pressed together in a thin line. His eyes are like stone, and Kono keeps her hand on Danny's shoulder, offering him what little comfort she can under the circumstances.

"This why you left me, Danny boy? To join up with the likes of him?" Steve jerks a thumb behind him, and Danny's eyes follow the direction that Steve's pointing in.

Danny rubs at his chest, swallows, and blinks at Steve, and at the men behind him. Instead of lighting up in recognition, his eyes dull, and something seems to shift inside of him. He stiffens beneath Kono's palm, and glares at Steve.

"I did what I had to do, _Commander," _sarcasm drips from Danny's lips. "You'd made it perfectly clear that I'd outlived my usefulness to you."

"Tell me, he fuck you too?" Steve's voice is cruel as he leans over Danny.

Kono feels like _she's_ been slapped in the face and is almost afraid to look at Danny, not wanting to see the pain that Steve's words are bound to bring the man. What she does see, in a brief glance, is enough to take her breath away. Danny's eyes flashing in anger are the only indication that Steve's words have hurt him. He looks nothing like the man she's come to think of as an older brother over the years. He looks like a killer.

Danny laughs. It's harsh, more like a bark than anything else. Kono's not sure whether to continue to stand her ground or back away. A quick glance in Chin's direction keeps her rooted to the spot.

"Here I'd thought it'd be a happy reunion," one of the men says.

He's thickly built, almost like a boxer. Short and stocky, dark hair balding. He reeks of smarm and has a slick, low class vibe about him. Kono feels sick, thinking about Danny doing anything with this man, let alone what Steve is suggesting.

"Pity you didn't tell me about your lover, Mickey." The man approaches Danny's bed, and Steve gives way for him, eyes locked on Danny's.

"Weren't nothing to tell," Danny says coolly. "We were through."

"And yet, here he, and his associates are, standing guard at your sick bed," the man says. He rests a hand on Danny's arm.

Danny shrugs. "Things were through on my side, Zanetti. The _commander_ here," Danny jerks his chin in Steve's direction, rolls his eyes. "Well, he's never been very good with goodbyes."

"Danny, Mickey, whatever the fuck his name is," Steve says, jaw clenching tightly, the muscle jumping. "Owes me, and I aim to collect."

"Shoulda killed him when I had the chance," Danny says brashly, barks out another laugh.

Steve grips the edge of Danny's bed so tightly that Kono can see his knuckles go white.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you didn't." Zanetti chuckles. "With the connections that he has, my territory will expand in no time at all."

"He's connected alright," Danny begrudges. "Found me, didn't he?"

"Thought you were dead," Zanetti says, suddenly serious. "Hell, half the city thought you were dead. Gotta say, I'm glad you ain't dead. I never had anyone quite as good as you workin' under me."

Steve's nostrils flare, and Kono can see that it's taking all of his willpower not to strangle the man. She doesn't blame him.

Kono wants to push the man's meaty paw off of Danny, hates the thought that Danny's been dealing with this asshole by himself for the past several months. Instead, she stands her ground, keeps her hand on Danny's shoulder, and keeps a wary lookout on Chin, and the man standing beside him. He's got one of those necks that is so thick that it looks like a tree trunk, and small, beady eyes that seem completely devoid of intelligence.

"Rumors of my death have been, as the saying goes," Danny says, a grim smile on his pale face, "greatly exaggerated. Takes more'n a couple bullets to kill ol' Mickey here." Danny thumps his chest, and winces.

Zanetti laughs, and Kono fights the urge she has to deck the man. Danny joins in, his own laughter slightly winded. He's fading fast, Kono can see it in the tight lines of pain around his eyes and lips, in the labored way that he's breathing.

He needs to rest, needs to stop this stupid charade before it sets his recovery back. The machine monitoring his heartbeat is starting to make a high pitched sound. A nurse will be coming to check on Danny's elevated heartbeat any moment now.

Kono can see that Steve's aware of this too, his eyes dart toward the machine, and he frowns slightly, though he says nothing, and doesn't give Danny a second glance. She knows that hearing all of this has got to be killing him.

"I don't doubt it," Zanetti says, and he pats Danny's arm, winks at him. Kono can see Steve's jaw twitch, can tell that, in spite of his cover, he's getting angry and jealous.

"We took care of your shooter," Zanetti says, glances at the man standing beside Chin. "Mullins sent him on a permanent trip down the river. I don't deal with dirty cops."

Danny swallows convulsively. "How'd you know who shot me?"

"Little fucker bragged about it all over town. Tried to get in good with me by claiming you was a cop, saying he'd done me a favor." Zanetti waves a hand in the air dismissively and laughs. "That he wanted in on what I had going on, that he'd give me the heads up on police calls, and all that crap."

Zanetti leans in a little too close, obscuring Kono's view of Danny's face. Making her want to hurt the man.

"You ain't no cop. No cop woulda done what you done to that man, god, what was his name? Bill, or Brad? Name started with a B anyway. You know, I think he's still in physical therapy, trying to learn how to walk without a limp." Zanetti's laughter makes Kono sick, but not as sick as the guilty look on Danny's face.

"Man shoulda known better'n ta mess with me," Danny says, his voice giving away nothing of the remorse that Kono could see, for a brief moment, when she'd looked into his eyes.

"Damn straight he shoulda." Zanetti squeezes Danny's arm. "God, I missed you, ya angry fuck. Don't die again, you hear?"

Danny returns the man's smile. Kono can tell that it's forced, though it's obvious that Zanetti is clueless.

"Don't plan on it anytime soon," Danny says. "Tough as nails." He taps his chest, wincing slightly.

"Hard as a rock," Zanetti says, rapping his knuckles on Danny's head and winking at him when Steve growls. "Guess I'm makin' your old man a little jealous here, Mickey. Maybe you oughta give him another chance, lay off the quick fucks, settle down." He laughs when Danny gives him the middle finger.

Steve stiffens, and Kono can see both jealousy and worry warring for dominance in Steve's eyes. There's also a touch of relief at Zanetti's confession that he and Danny aren't involved in anything aside from business. Kono's relieved too, the thought of Danny and Zanetti being lovers is enough to make her want to run from the room, screaming. Her stomach roils at the thought of it.

Three quick knocks on the door indicate that a nurse has finally arrived in response to the change in Danny's heart rate. Without waiting for an answer, the nurse enters the room, a wide smile on her face that doesn't falter, even as she takes in the sight of all of the people in Danny's room.

She takes one look at her patient and hurries forward, pushing Zanetti and Steve out of her way. Her smile disappears, and she shakes her head.

"All of you, out, now," she orders in a voice that's both authoritative and chastising. Her words ring in the room, and she turns, pointing a finger at each of them in turn. "My patient needs his rest. Out."

She places a hand on her hip and purses her lips, raises an eyebrow when Steve gives her a pleading look, and opens his mouth to protest. Kono wants to laugh at the way that Steve's ears grow red, but, one look at the angry nurse has her scrambling to obey the woman's orders too.

Kono follows the others out of the door, giving Danny a sympathetic look when the nurse starts muttering something about how she didn't spend those extra five minutes on him in the ER just to watch him die at the hands of his clueless friends. By the looks and sounds of it, Danny's going to get an earful before he can finally get the rest that he really needs.

In spite of everything, Kono smiles, knowing that, for the time being at least, Danny's in good hands, and safe. She follows the others until there's another hallway and banks left, counts to thirty, and when she doesn't hear anyone doubling back, she heads down the hallway, back to Danny.

She can't quite shake the feeling that there's something more going on than what meets the eye. Steve, or Chin, should've given them a head's up. Kono's got a bad feeling about this, and she's going to stick by Danny until that feeling passes.

She hates being left in the dark, but knows that Steve and Chin wouldn't do that to her and Danny unless there was a very good reason for it. Of course that doesn't mean she won't give both men hell for throwing her and Danny a curveball like that.

When she's given the go-ahead by the nurse to return to the room, Danny's sleeping. There's a troubled look on his face, his brow's furrowed, and Kono wonders if she's reading too much into it. If maybe he's been like this since they found him, and she just hasn't noticed it, because she was just so happy to have found their missing friend.

But she knows more now, more than Danny's told them in his brief, wakeful moments not spent in the company of nurses and doctors. It's almost more than she wants to know, and for some reason, she thinks that she doesn't yet know enough. That Steve and Chin don't yet know enough about what happened to their friend, and that they're getting themselves into something that might be harder to get out of than it was to get into.

Danny mutters something in his sleep, and his fingers scrabble at the sheets. Kono wonders if he's searching for Steve, reaches over and takes his hand in hers. He stills, and she rubs her thumb over his knuckles.

"What the hell did you get yourself into, Danny?" she whispers, no real acrimony in her voice.

Her phone dings, and she thumbs it to life. It's a picture of Danny, when he'd been gunned down in the alley. It's a closeup. The caption beneath it reads: _he died once, i can arrange for him to die again_

Whoever had taken the picture had been there when Danny was shot. Kono frowns, wondering who sent her this, and why now.

It's disconcerting. Danny looks dead, and she has to look at the still living Danny to reconcile the image from the phone with what she knows to be true.

She scans the message carefully, her heart in her throat, eyes going toward the closed door, hairs rising on the back of her neck, and she reaches for her gun. She sighs in relief when she realizes that the picture's been forwarded to her.

"Forwarded by Chin? How the...?" Kono looks for other clues to explain why Chin had sent this to her, and what he wants her to do with the picture. It's a lead, and Kono isn't sure how to follow it.

A second text comes in: _find out who took this photo_

"Yeah, sure, Chin, I'll get right on that." Kono scowls at her phone and tosses it onto the chair without bothering to send a text in return. She's more than a little upset, doesn't think that it's too much to ask that he give her a head's up before sending her something like that.

She focuses her attention on Danny who's started to toss and turn, and clutch at his chest. He's muttering again, and she can't make out the words. She leans in close, and her heart catches in her throat. Danny's apologizing to Grace, to Steve, to all of them for what he's done, for becoming an animal, and for dying.

Kono squeezes his hand and whispers, "You're not dead, Danny. Not by a long shot."

"Mickey." Danny's voice is gravelly, haunted. "My name's Mickey. Danny...he's...he's dead."

"No," Kono says a little more sharply than she intended, and she practically crushes Danny's hand in her grip, forces his eyes to open.

"No, you listen to me," Kono keeps her voice steady, hard, uncompromising. She doesn't want to lose Danny.

Danny's eyes are clouded by whatever drugs the nurse has given him, they're filled with pain and regret, and Kono leans so close that she can feel Danny's breath on her neck. She doesn't want him to mistake her words for some hallucinogenic dream.

"Your name is Danny. Detective Daniel Williams," Kono reinforces her message by using his title and name, and she squeezes his hand when his eyes start to close, holds his confused gaze, forces him to look at her.

"You're a father, a damn good detective, and the only man who can talk sense into that crazy boss of ours, because he loves you and you love him. It's not Danny who's dead," Kono squeezes his hand, applies pressure until he grimaces in pain.

"You hear me?" Kono doesn't care what it looks like, how it might sound to anyone who might happen to walk in on them right now. She wants to make her point clear, wants Danny to understand that he's got it all wrong, because she'll be damned if she's traveled all this way just to lose him, and with him, Steve, again.

Danny nods, slowly, and his eyes blink, almost don't open again, but Kono taps him on the cheek, and Danny's eyes flutter open. They're focused on her lips.

"It's Mickey who's dead. Mickey died in that alley," Kono says, her voice cracking. "Mickey's dead. You're not Mickey, you're Danny. Mickey's dead. Mickey, not Danny."

She wonders if maybe she's gone too far when Danny's eyes start to cross as they lose focus and his face crumples in confusion as he soundlessly repeats her words: _Mickey's dead. Mickey, not Danny._

Danny blinks up at her, and Kono smiles at him, squeezes his hand. His eyes close and he loses his grip on Kono's hand, but she continues to hold his hand, hopes that she hasn't inadvertently hypnotized her drugged friend. That she hasn't compromised his recovery, or brainwashed him, or done some irreparable, psychological damage to him in his compromised state of mind.

"Fuck," she breathes out, and brushes aside a wayward tear. She's angry. With herself, with Steve and Chin, and Zanetti. Angry with Mickey, who, whether a part of Danny or not, had hurt someone she loved, possibly irreversibly. Angry with the whole damn world right now. Angry at the stupid box and the men who'd started it all in the first place.

"Be okay, Danny, please." Kono presses her cheek next to Danny's, closes her eyes and collects herself before letting go of Danny's hand.

Straightening, she turns her attention to the picture on the phone, to the mystery that her cousin sent her, hoping that, if she figures out where the photo initially came from and who sent it, it will bring an end to all of this once and for all. Hopes that it'll bring them one step closer to burying Mickey, and bringing Danny home, intact and very much alive, and preferably not brainwashed.


	80. Seeing Red

**Disclaimer: See initial chapter.**

**A/N: **Not sure how I feel about this chapter. I've written, tweaked, revised. It's imperfect at best.

* * *

><p>There's something fishy about this whole damn undercover operation, and it's all that Steve can do to keep from exploding. Steve takes a deep breath, holds it in, and tries to keep his temper in check. Zanetti is an asshole. A first class slime ball. Someone that Danny should never have gotten involved with, undercover or not.<p>

"Steve," Chin's voice is pitched low, he's got a restraining hand on Steve's arm, keeping him from doing something stupid, like ramming a fist through Zanetti's face, or breaking the man's neck. Right now it's a toss up between the two.

Instead, he smiles, feeling sick about it, as Zanetti blathers on about _Mickey_. About what an animal _Mickey _is, and how he has an appetite for brunettes and dark haired men with tattoos. About how Steve must have first hand knowledge of what Zanetti's talking about, because he's fucked the man.

"Don't do it," Chin says, tugs on Steve's arm when Steve makes a move toward Zanetti.

Steve bites his tongue, clenches his fists tight, and prays that Kono's close to figuring out who the hell sent him that picture of Danny, so that he can kill someone and get out of this godforsaken place where good, honest cops are set up to be killed, and creeps like Zanetti are still in business. He's inwardly seething and wonders how Danny put up with Zanetti for as long as he did without cracking. Or, maybe Danny had cracked.

"He's just trying to get under your skin," Chin says, when Zanetti makes a joke about what side of the street Danny walks on, and insinuates that what he and Steve had was nothing special, that Danny would fuck anything as long as it was tight enough, and there was enough alcohol and drugs involved.

Zanetti keeps calling Danny _Mickey,_ making the name sound like a pet name, making it seem like there was more going on between the two of them than business. Like _Mickey _was much more to Zanetti than muscle he could use to threaten and push others around with. Like _Mickey_ and he might've been involved in a much more personal and intimate capacity. The possibilities are spinning around in Steve's head, and he wants to punch someone, but Chin's hand on his arm reminds him that he can't do that just yet.

Steve's seeing red, and his stomach clenches when he thinks of Danny, undercover or not, even so much as kissing this sleazeball. Some of what he's thinking must show on his face, because Chin pulls him to a stop, and motions for him to calm down and stay focused.

He's lost track of what they're doing, why they're following Zanetti and no-neck through side streets and back alleys. Steve's so angry that he can't see straight, and all he wants to do is get back to Danny, make sure that he's alright after what happened. Make sure that Danny knows that he understands, that Steve isn't angry with him, that he doesn't blame him for what's happened.

Steve does understand, better than he wants to. He's not angry about the things that Danny's done while undercover - the men he's beaten, those he's fucked - if Zanetti's lewd stories and insinuations are to be believed.

Steve's been there before. Done things to survive that he's never told anyone, not even Danny, about.

It's all part and parcel of the job; a necessity. Steve understands, and yet, when he looks at Zanetti, all he wants to do is wipe that smarmy smile off the man's idiotic face, and tell him to back the fuck off, and leave Danny the hell alone, and to stop calling Danny Mickey.

Steve isn't worried about keeping Danny's cover anymore, about maintaining his own loose cover. He's more concerned about figuring out who sent him that picture of Danny minutes after they'd left Danny's hospital room with Zanetti and his man.

He'd forwarded it to Chin, who'd forwarded it to Kono, and now he can't seem to shake the feeling that they're being watched by whoever the hell had sent him the picture of Danny bleeding out in the alley, minutes, maybe seconds before the paramedics had arrived. It fills him with a sense of dread, makes his skin itch.

Steve's phone buzzes, and he holds a finger up to forestall whatever the hell Zanetti's about to say, not that he wants to hear it, and he pulls his phone out. There's another picture of Danny, though this one's different.

It's of Danny - _Mickey_ - with another man, it's a grainy looking picture, as though it's been shot in the dark, and it's hard to make out what the two men are doing together, though Steve gets the gist. Danny's, no _Mickey's_ hand, is on the other man's hip, their faces are close together, and Steve stops looking at the picture, forwards it to Chin, and fights the urge he has to shut his phone off.

_u care about him, don't u_

The message is taunting, trying to provoke a reaction out of him, and Steve's thumb hovers over the keyboard, his stomach twisting in knots as he types in a response.

_couldn't care less about the little fag, let him fuck whoever he wants to fuck. u got a hardon for him? be my guest._

He swallows the bile that rises in his throat, burning it, and gestures for Zanetti to continue with whatever it was that he'd been saying before the anonymous text was sent. He hopes that Kono is able to track down the little pissant so Steve can make good on some of the threats that are playing out in his mind.

"You okay, there?" Zanetti asks, leering.

Steve blinks at him, and frowns. "Why the fuck wouldn't I be okay?"

"It's just, you're so quiet," Zanetti says, and he laughs uncomfortably, like he knows something that Steve doesn't, and is trying, poorly, to keep it concealed.

Steve takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he's doing this so that he can bring Danny home.

"My mother always told me that silence was golden." He doesn't smile, gives Zanetti a look that he thinks Danny would name.

Zanetti smiles and nods vigorously, his big head bobbing between his shoulders in a manner that reminds Steve of one of those stupid bobblehead toys. The man laughs and it's an oily sounding thing that makes Steve want to shut him up, permanently.

He resists the urge, Chin's hand on his arm acting as a reminder that now is not the time, that they've got to find out who the hell is sending Steve these messages and why. That, for the time being, Zanetti and his henchman need to live.

"Well, here we are," Zanetti says, spreading his arms wide, and grinning like a loon.

Steve wonders if the man ever stops smiling. They're standing in the middle of an alley that smells like cat piss and shit, and the man's smiling. It's sickening, and Steve wonders how the man ever made a name for himself when it's clear, after spending just a few short hours with him, that the man's an idiot.

And then it hits him, and Steve almost starts grinning himself when he realizes that Zanetti's just a front-man. That he's a puppet and someone else is pulling the strings, or fuck, maybe someone's got his hand up the man's ass. Steve decides that's a much better image, and nearly laughs at the absurdity.

He wonders if Danny knew this, and then he goes cold with fear, because it's all starting to come together now. Danny _did_ know, and he was gunned down because of it. Both Danny and Kono are in danger, and he and Chin are sitting ducks.

"This is where your little fuck buddy was shot down," no-neck says, less intelligent than Zanetti, his voice is thick with some kind of accent that Steve can't place.

It's throaty, like the man's been chain smoking since he was in diapers. No amount of Chin's calm can keep Steve from felling the man with a single, well-placed jab to the back of his overly thick neck. It's almost comical the way the man drops like a sack of potatoes, but the gun pointed at Chin's head takes the punchline right out of it, and Zanetti's no longer smiling.

"You'll want to look at your phone, McGarrett," Zanetti says, seconds before his phone buzzes in his pocket.

All pretense of covers and amicable bantering is gone now, and Steve gets the sense that he's seeing the real Zanetti for the first time since he and Chin had managed to track him down with what little Danny was able to tell them about the operation. The man, as much as he and Chin were playing him, is playing them. It's almost dizzying.

Steve catches Chin's eye, and the man, even with a gun pointed at his head, is calm as a Buddha. He nods for Steve to do as Zanetti's ordered, and Steve wonders if Danny'd known that his number was up when he'd set foot in this alley. He wonders if Zanetti will know what's hit him when he goes down, if he'll go to Hell clueless as to how he got there when his time comes.

Steve pulls his phone out of his pocket and this time there's a photo of Danny, pale, eyes closed, bare chest covered with a series of stitches. Danny's hooked up to machines, and there's a glimpse of Kono, off to the side. She's got her back to the photographer, as though she doesn't think he's a threat.

_care if i fuck him now? dont relly think hes up for it. do u? im game..._

Steve's stomach lurches and he snaps, his training as a Navy SEAL coming to the fore and taking over. He's in complete control of the situation, though, disarms Zanetti and has the man kneeling on the broken asphalt of the alley, before the man can so much as blink. He's got Zanetti's arm twisted at an impossible angle, and the man's in so much pain that, though his mouth is open, he's incapable of making a sound.

Steve smiles then, gets right up in Zanetti's face, and points the gun that the man had held on Chin at Zanetti's temple, digs it in, and, if it Chin's hand wasn't on his, he'd have pulled the trigger right then.

Instead, Steve satisfies himself with snapping Zanetti's arm, and removing the bullets from the gun. It's a clean break, and this time the man can scream, but Chin muffles the sound of it with the palm of his hand, and a sucker punch to the man's considerable gut.

Steve wastes no time in typing a quick reply to the latest text, sends whoever the fuck is messing with him a picture of his own. Chin's got a balled up tie stuffed in Zanetti's mouth, the man's cradling his broken arm, and no-neck's sprawled out beside him, still dead to the world. Neither man looks particularly threatening right now.

_check mate_

It's a gamble, and Steve prays that whoever is with Danny and Kono won't react adversely to his words.

"Whoever is pulling his strings." Steve gestures toward Zanetti. "He's with Danny and Kono right now," Steve says.

"Kono's not a rookie," Chin says, though he looks as worried as Steve feels. "She can hold her own."

"That bitch cop, and your bitch partner are both dead," Zanetti says, panting through the pain, eyes filled with tears. Though the words are threatening, there's a lack of conviction in the man's voice to back them up.

Chin's phone dings, and he looks at it, face draining of color, eyebrows knit together.

_Psych here, dept shrink, Dr. Capo?_

"Steve." Chin's voice is tight, and he hands his phone over. Steve glances at it, and resists the urge that he has to break it.

"Fuck." Steve runs a hand through his hair, wishes that he had answers that he doesn't have, that he could be in two places at once, that this was all over and he was on a plane home, with Danny by his side.

Danny hadn't mentioned anything about a shrink. Hadn't really mentioned much of anything to any of them about what he'd been through. There just hadn't been time for any of that, and he was rarely awake for long enough to go into any details.

Steve and Chin had questioned him a couple of times - keeping it brief, because Danny tired easily. They'd gotten some answers which had enabled them to track down Zanetti, and the chief of police who'd set up the operation - the man was a bastard, but he was clean. There was so much that they just didn't know yet; however, and Steve needed answers.

"We need to get back," Chin says, glancing at the downed men.

"Let Kono know," Steve says. "I'll take care of Zanetti and Mullins."

"Steve." Chin lays a cautionary hand on him, and shakes his head. "We don't have means and immunity here," Chin whispers, raises his eyebrows significantly.

Steve shrugs Chin's hand off, motions for him to text Kono, and he crouches before Zanetti. He smiles when the man swallows audibly. The smirk slips off the man's face when Steve inches forward, knife in hand.

"Did you have anything to do with Danny being shot?" he asks, toying with his knife, keeping it prominently in Zanetti's line of sight.

Zanetti's eyes go wide and he shakes his head, wincing when the enthusiasm with which he'd shook his head jostles his injured arm.

"No, no, I told him..." he pales and stops talking, licks his lips when Steve raises the knife to eye level and peers closely at it.

"You told him what, exactly?" Steve asks, holding the knife still, pointing directly at Zanetti's eye.

"I told him not to do it, that, that..." Zanetti is visibly sweating, breathing heavily now. "That it was working, that, that..." he trails off when Steve's jaw clenches and he narrows his eyes.

"_What _was working?" The odd phrasing raises red flags in Steve's mind, and he tries not to jump to conclusions.

Zanetti snaps his mouth shut, his eyes going wide. He shakes his head, and trembles when Steve places the tip of the knife beneath his chin, cutting into it.

"Answer the question," Steve says, keeping his voice even, because he knows that it's far more intimidating when the person threatening you is in complete control.

Zanetti shakes his head, and Steve wonders what kind of hold this Dr. Capo has on the thug that would keep him silent even when facing certain death. It raises Steve's concern for Danny and Kono. He hopes that Kono's got control of the situation, whatever it is, at the hospital, and that she and Danny are okay.

"Steve." Chin's voice is tight, and Steve glances at him, keeps the knife at Zanetti's chin. "Kono isn't replying."

Zanetti seems to regain some semblance of his former bravado at Chin's words, and Steve draws the knife upward, making a neat cut that bisects the man's chin, and goes up to below the man's lower lip. It isn't deep enough to cause any permanent or deadly damage, but it's enough to make the man bleed and hurt. Deep enough to require stitches and for it to scar, unless the man knows a good plastic surgeon.

"Go on," Steve says, keeping his eyes locked on the wide-eyed Zanetti. "I'll catch up with you. I just need another minute here."

He's torn between rushing to Danny's aid, and finishing off Zanetti. He wants answers. Answers that he doubts that Danny has; answers that he's certain Zanetti can give him.

"Steve, there's no time," Chin says. He's kneeling beside Mullins, securing the man's hands and ankles with zipties. "I know you want answers, but -"

"I'll be right behind you, Chin," Steve says, an edge to his voice.

Chin lets out a frustrated breath, but he doesn't say anything. He uses Steve's shoulder to brace himself as he stands, squeezes hard and pointedly, communicating to Steve that he shouldn't do anything that will bring trouble down on them.

"Promise," Steve adds when Chin hovers nearby, as though he's torn as well. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

Chin leaves then, running out of the alley and back toward the hospital, which is a couple of blocks away. Steve gives Zanetti his full attention then; pulls the knife back and deliberately wipes the blood off on his shirt.

"_What_ was working?" Steve repeats the question as though he has all the time in the world, as though half of his mind's not with Danny and Kono.

When Zanetti keeps his lips pressed close together, and refuses to speak, Steve swings the knife downward and digs it into the man's leg, just above his kneecap, and twists it. He relishes the way that the flesh gives and the way that Zanetti's gasps in pain.

Zanetti screams, but Steve's not worried about anyone hearing the scream, even though it echoes in the alley. If anyone does hear the man's scream at this time of day, he doubts that anyone will care. If this was a neighborhood that held people who cared about their neighbors, then Danny wouldn't have been gunned down and left to bleed out.

"Tell me what I want to know, and I'll end this now," Steve says, twisting the knife again, digging it deeper, separating the patella from the femur, severing the tendon.

It's extremely painful, and Zanetti will never walk again without a distinct limp, will need the aid of a wheelchair and then crutches for some time to come. Will spend months in physical therapy, once the tendons and muscles start to mend.

Steve doesn't care. He wants the man to hurt. Wants to inflict pain on him for inflicting pain on Danny. He is in complete control, and yet he's not. There's a haze of red clouding his vision, making him dig that knife in a little deeper.

Something gives, with a snap that seems to ring in Steve's ears, and then Zanetti's whimpering, and Steve's vision clears a little. He removes the knife, pulls a bandana from a pocket in his cargo pants, and ties it tightly around the wound in Zanetti's leg, drawing another pained gasp from Zanetti. Much as he wants to, he can't let Zanetti bleed to death in the alley.

Steve can hear Danny's voice in his subconscious, reprimanding him for using excessive force, but he ignores it in favor of getting what he wants. He's frustrated and angry and hates how helpless he's felt since Danny's phone call.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Steve whispers, and then he raises the knife, places the tip beneath Zanetti's left eye and applies just enough pressure to draw a little dot of blood. The man whimpers and starts to beg.

"Please, please, he...he was crazy," Zanetti sputters, pulling away from the knife, but Steve presses forward, following.

"He wanted to, wanted to break your man." Zanetti gulps at the air, and seems to deflate when Steve removes the knife. "Said he was, was perfect for...for his...his experiment. Easy to...easy to manipulate."

Steve's blood boils, and he wonders why Dr. Capo abandoned his plan to break Danny in favor of killing him, what the psych's ultimate plan regarding Danny and Zanetti really was.

An even worse idea pops into his head, and Steve wonders if maybe Capo's gunman had gotten a little too trigger happy, if Dr. Capo had merely wanted Danny wounded so that he could further manipulate him, use Danny's weakened state to influence his mind. It's a terrifying thought.

Danny had already been in an altered state of mind when he'd left Hawaii, not coping well with what had happened to him in the box. It would have taken very little to break down what few defenses he still had in place to protect himself.

"I told him it was working," Zanetti says, voice pleading. "I liked Mickey. Man was a fucking genius with his fists. No one messed with him. The doctor did good. He did. I told him he did good."

Zanetti's shaking, his eyes wide, like a child's, and Steve wonders if the doctor he's talking about, the doctor with Kono and Danny, worked his magic on Zanetti as well. Whatever the case, Danny was dealing with far more than he probably realized, and Steve needs to get back to the hospital. He needs to make sure that Danny's alright.

He quickly pulls Zanetti's hands behind him, heedless of the man's injured arm. He takes some pleasure in causing the man even more pain than he already has as he maneuvers the man's arm in the opposite direction than it should be moved, making bone scrape over bone and making the man whimper and sweat with the pain of it. He secures the zip tie tight enough to bite deeply into Zanetti's fleshy wrists, watches the man topple, face first, onto the asphalt, cheek lying in a rancid puddle.

"You tell anyone about this, and I will find you, and kill you," Steve whispers in the man's ear, smiles and pats him on the cheek as he stands. It's a promise, and judging by the look of fear on Zanetti's face, he understands as much.

Cleaning his knife, Steve stows it in his boot, and then he leaves the alley, making a quick phone call to the local police as he runs to the hospital, his heart racing in his chest. If he's fucked this up, and Danny's health is further compromised, or worse, he'll never forgive himself.


	81. I'll Stay

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N: **Dedicated to TheDogo who encouraged me to write again after I got discouraged. This chapter wouldn't have been written this soon had it not been for that encouragement, and it might look altogether different as well. There could very well be some errors in here, I apologize ahead of time.

**A/N 2: **References are made to an earlier chapter titled, "A Wrench in the Plan," #70, where a psych evaluation was mentioned. It was brief and the doctor was never named, neither was the chief of police. Here, the doctor is given a name, and an agenda that goes far beyond his menial job as a police department shrink. The doctor's motivations are suspect, and rather reminiscent of 80's TV shows that I used to watch when I was younger, so please keep that in mind as you read. Mahalo

* * *

><p>Something feels off, and Danny can't quite put his finger on what it is, though it makes him nervous. He tries to open his eyes, but can't. Panic steals his breath, makes his heart race, and he can hear the machine that he's hooked up to start to beep as it registers his alarm.<p>

He knows where he is, how he ended up in the hospital. It's not his recollection of the shooting - how helpless he'd been - or knowing that he's stuck in a hospital bed which is making him panic. It's something else, and Danny's panic increases when he can't figure out what it is that's bothering him.

_Easy, Danno._

It's Steve's voice, in his head. His own personal Jiminy Cricket in the form of a Navy SEAL.

Danny pictures a miniaturized Steve wearing a snazzy suit, absurdly large shoes, white gloves, and a top hat. He's using a red umbrella to lean against as he looks at Danny. It's ridiculous, and he wants to laugh, but the pressure on his chest prevents him from breathing, let alone laughing.

_Stop panicking. Breathe._

Steve's voice is soothing, calming, even if the only image that Danny can seem to muster of him is comical, and doesn't fit the situation at all.

_That's it, Danny. Breathe for me._

Mini Steve is sitting on Danny's chest, facing him, opening and closing his umbrella in time to Danny's breaths, giving him something to focus on other than the pain in his chest and the worry niggling at the back of his mind.

His legs are crossed at the ankle, top hat askew, and he's got a serious look on his face. Very un-Jiminy Cricket-like.

_You've got to open your eyes, Danny._

Danny frowns, wonders how he can see Steve if his eyes aren't open, and then remembers that he's seeing, not the real Steve, but a figment of his imagination. 'Why can't I imagine Steve half-naked, coming up out of the ocean after a swim?' he wonders.

The miniaturized Steve stands up, walks across Danny's chest and taps him on the nose with the tip of his umbrella. It's sharper than it looks, and Danny's face scrunches, not in pain, but irritation. He wants to brush at his nose, because it tickles, but he can't move his arms.

_Open your eyes, Danny._

Miniature Steve is adamant, raises his umbrella to tap Danny on the nose a second time.

'Pinocchio didn't have to deal with this kind of abuse,' Danny thinks a little crossly.

Danny can't move away from the incessant attack - the umbrella is a surprisingly good weapon in his incapacitated state. He wants to open his eyes, wants to do what Steve is telling him to do, but it's difficult, and his eyes don't seem to want to cooperate no matter what he tells them.

_Open your eyes. _

'I'm trying,' Danny grouses, wishing he could take the tiny umbrella away from Steve.

_Try harder. _

Steve isn't being kind. He's being an ass, and Danny wants to flick the miniature version of the man he loves off his chest. He doesn't need the added pressure, doesn't need the reminder of how weak he is. Doesn't need to be poked in the nose by that fucking umbrella one more time.

'I _am_ trying,' Danny feels like shouting, and then he's blinking his eyes against harsh light, and Steve's no longer there, miniature or otherwise.

Someone else is looming over him, and Danny's eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden light. It's got to be Kono, he remembers her being there after Zanetti had left, with Steve and Chin in tow.

Danny had wanted to warn Steve, wanted to tell him not to trust Zanetti, or the man with him, but he hadn't had time, and the nurse had come in and given him some kind of drug to help him relax and sleep.

He can feel the drugs still in his system, trying to pull him back under, but there's that feeling that something's horribly wrong, and the whisper of Steve's voice tickling his conscience, that makes him keep his eyes open. Open, his eyes find it hard to focus, and Danny wonders if that's because of the drugs, or because of something else.

"Detective Williams," a voice says, and he feels a tap on his cheek.

'Least it's not my nose,' Danny thinks, and he grudgingly tries to follow the movement of whoever it is that's hovering over him. 'Must be my doctor.'

_He's not your doctor, Danny._

Danny tries to turn his head to seek out mini Steve, but he's nowhere in sight, and Danny can't seem to make his head move the way that he wants it to. It's unnerving.

He can no longer drum up an image of Steve, and Danny starts to panic again.

"Relax," the voice says.

Danny doesn't want to relax, he wants to wake the fuck up and find Steve. Wants to figure out what's bugging him so much. Wants to be able to recognize the face of the man who's standing over him, tapping him on the cheek.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Danny doesn't believe the voice for a minute, though he has no idea why. He wants Steve back, even if he can only have the miniature version of the man and and he continues to poke him with his imaginary umbrella.

_Hold on, Danny._

Steve's voice sounds worried, strained, and Danny wishes that he could find the man, or conjure up an image of him.

"I don't think he's up for this," Kono's voice pulls Danny from the edge of panic that he'd been teetering on. "Maybe you'd better come back, when he's awake."

"I think I'm capable of judging Daniel's fitness," the voice says a little angrily. "I _am _a doctor."

_Daniel._ The formal use of his name doesn't feel right, and he remembers that the man, whoever he is, had also addressed him as Detective Williams.

"You're not helping him," Kono retorts.

Danny wishes that he could see her face, but his head refuses to move. It feels stuck, like it's being held in place, and he thinks that maybe it is.

"I think you should leave," the voice says. It's sharp and Danny doesn't want Kono to leave. Doesn't want her to leave him alone with the voice and the hands that are keeping his head from moving.

"I'm not going anywhere," Kono says.

Danny silently cheers Kono's pluck and determination, because he can't seem to get his mouth to work. Breathing, and keeping his eyes open, is hard enough for him to do right now.

"I knew that you'd be difficult."

The phrase, as well as the cadence it's spoken in, is odd. Danny wishes that his eyes would stop being so difficult, that they would work well enough for him to get a good look at the man whose face is perched above his own.

"Tell me, has your cousin texted you back yet?"

The man shifts away from him, and Danny can move his head now, but he still can't make out anything other than blurry shapes. He knows the smaller one belongs to Kono, but doesn't know who the larger shape belongs to, and is unable to do anything as the larger shape advances on the smaller one.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kono says, and Danny can tell that she's bluffing.

He's worked with her long enough to know her slightly over-defiant clip to her voice is enough of a giveaway, and he knows that Chin did send her a text, though he has no idea what's going on, or what any of it means.

_It's going to be okay, Danno._

Mini Steve is back, leaning against his red umbrella. He's facing away from Danny, though he's standing on Danny's chest. Danny follows the miniature's gaze, sees that Kono's in a fighting stance - feet shoulder-width apart, back squared, hands hanging loosely by her side. She appears, to the untrained eye, to someone who doesn't know her, as though she's relaxed.

_I taught her that._

Danny snorts at the prideful remark. Even in his imagination, Steve is cocky, and though he's facing away from Danny, he can picture the broad grin on the man's face. Though, to be fair, Steve _had_ taught her that, as well as the importance of being prepared for anything, and keeping a knife on her person at all times.

Things which Danny believes will come in very handy now. Even with his eyes better able to focus, now that he isn't being forced to stare up at the lights, he still can't place the dark-haired man who is threatening Kono, though he thinks he should be able to.

Danny licks his lips, pushes air over his tongue and past his lips, hoping for sound. He manages a faint breathy sound, and counts that as a plus. He's still got a long way to go if he's going to say something to take the man's attention off of Kono.

He manages to raise one of his hands, after several failed attempts, and grips the metal railing of his bed with a hand that's trembling far too much for his liking. His fingers nearly slip off of the railing, finding it difficult to grasp, but Danny concentrates and keeps hold of it.

He swallows and takes as deep a breath as he can, knowing that what he's about to do is going to hurt, but he doesn't see an alternative as the man takes another step toward Kono.

Danny wishes that Steve, or Chin would come bursting through the door right now, keep him from what he's about to do, but knows that life, at least his life, doesn't work that way. There's never an easy way for him out of situations like this, never anything that doesn't cause pain.

_Danny._

Mini Steve's voice is filled with concern, but Danny ignores that in favor of directing all of his energies, which are waning, on sitting up, which is laughable, really. It shouldn't take this much effort to sit up in bed.

Danny grits his teeth, knowing that this will hurt, and praying that he doesn't undo any of the doctors' handiwork, because he knows that it had taken them a long time to stitch him together - three of them working on him in concert with each other.

He could use the remote control to move the head of the bed up from it's currently angled position. It's at a comfortable angle. Sitting up further will make him uncomfortable, could compromise his recovery, because it might increase his blood pressure.

He's got Kono to think about though. Steve, other than in his current state as a miniature incarnation in Danny's mind, is not here. Chin is with Steve. It's just Danny and Kono and a stranger who knows more than he should about them.

Danny clears his throat and draws the attention of Kono and the stranger, both of them turning in his direction. Using every bit of energy that he possesses, Danny draws in a breath and heaves himself upright, using the railing to help him.

His vision whites out, and he thinks that he can hear mini Steve remonstrating him for being foolish, but he knows what he's doing. Or, at least he thought he'd known what he was doing when he'd planned it.

His chest is on fire, he's half certain that if he looks down, he'll see flames licking at it. Instead, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, hoping that, once the pain subsides, _if _the pain subsides, he'll be able to see the man and finally identify him.

"Danny, what the hell?" Kono is definitely angry with him, which means her attention is not where it's supposed to be.

"Detective Williams," the stranger's voice sounds strained, concerned.

Danny can feel someone's arm on his shoulder, pushing him back, but he resists, remains sitting out of sheer will alone, because he doesn't really have any strength left.

He's dizzy, and panting through the pain. It's all he can do to not to give into the pain and let the darkness pressing at the edges of his vision take over, all he can do not to crawl into his box and wait for someone to get him out of it.

"Who?" the question isn't complete, it's lacking a subject and a predicate, but Danny's hoping that it can be understood, even if it comes out as nothing more than a rasp.

He thinks he remembers one of his high school English teachers mentioning something about the subject you being understood, though, really, right now, not important. What _is_ important is making himself clear, drawing the attention away from Kono, buying time for Steve and Chin to return, because they have to be coming back, they have to realize that there's danger here. If not, that means the impossible, and that's not something that Danny has the energy to think about right now.

Danny's vision returns, though it isn't much improved from earlier. Actually, it's worse, and he's seeing double of the man he can't place.

"Don't you remember me, detective?" the man asks, his face - both of them - a mask of feigned concern. He has a gun in his hand. It wasn't there before, at least Danny doesn't think it was.

Foregoing the use of his voice, Danny shakes his head, regretting the move almost instantly as a wave of vertigo makes the room spin. He blinks, grips the metal rail as tightly as he can, feeling it slip through his fingers, which are growing numb.

"Dr. Capo," Kono interrupts. "I think you'd better leave now."

She's watching Capo, the gun in his hand, and Danny, concern etched in every line on her face. Danny worries that she's getting too old, too fast, wishes that she hadn't had to go through all that she has since she's signed on with Five-0.

"Not until I've done what I've come to do," the doctor says, waving his gun in the air. "After all the work I've put into this. Putting that stupid police chief into place. Getting Zanetti set up, which took me years, and then waiting for the right man for the job; I'm not going to let Detective Williams' care rest in the hands of mere plebeians who don't understand the first thing about the tender nature of the human mind."

Danny remembers then. Remembers when he'd first sought a job with a department, how difficult it had been, how he'd had to go through several interviews, and then be cleared by psych. He never had gotten the doctor's name. Had never really paid attention to what the man looked like. Would never have anticipated that it was this man who had set him up to be shot.

"You were not supposed to die," Dr. Capo says, and he sounds sincere, though he points the gun at Danny's head. "He wasn't supposed to kill you, but he got greedy. Wanted to take your place."

The doctor brushes Danny's hair off his forehead, and Danny tries not to flinch. He doesn't know this man, doesn't understand what this man wants from him. Doesn't understand any of this, least of all why the doctor took an interest in him.

"You were perfect," Dr. Capo says, stroking Danny's cheek with the gun, making Danny's stomach twist. "I knew it the moment I read your file. What you'd been through, the pain and the horror of it, made you the perfect candidate for me."

"What?" Danny's holding on by a thread, mini Steve's voice is encouraging him to hold on just a little longer, to be strong.

'I _am_ strong,' Danny thinks, 'but I'm not bulletproof.'

"You were almost ready. Almost a new man. A man of _my_ fashioning," Dr. Capo says, and he places the barrel of the gun beneath Danny's chin. "A man I could use to build my empire, someone I could replace that tool, Zanetti, with. I built him too.I built him and I can take him apart."

He tilts Danny's head upward, making him look at the blinding lights. Black spots dance in Danny's vision, and he can feel himself slipping, his fingers failing him as he tries to reclaim his hold on the metal railing.

"Get the fuck away from him," Kono's voice breaks through the haze that fills Danny's mind, keeps him from prying the lid off the box and lowering himself into it, escaping into the safety of its inky blackness.

"He's mine," Dr. Capo says, seizing Danny's chin, making it impossible for Danny to lie down or look away from his cold, gray eyes. The gun is now being pointed directly at Kono. "I'm almost finished with him. When that partner of his, McGarrett, is dead -"

"Dead?" the word pushes its way past Danny's lips, and his heart momentarily stops beating before resuming, but at a much faster pace than is safe.

The doctor's mouth twists in a macabre grin, and he laughs, his gun hand wavering. "I should be getting the text any minute now."

He releases Danny's chin, letting Danny sink back against the mattress. He pulls out his phone and smiles. Danny's heart sinks. Capo toggles the phone on and shoves it in Danny's line of vision. Danny blinks at the image on the screen.

"Check mate," Danny says, his voice nearly below a whisper.

Smiling, he raises his eyes to look at Capo. The message had been sent fifteen minutes ago, if Capo hadn't been ranting and waving his gun around, he would've gotten the message earlier, would know that Steve was still alive. Would know that Zanetti and his goon - apparently under Capo's thumb, or psychiatric care, Danny isn't sure which, doesn't really care - were at the mercy of a very pissed off Navy SEAL, who, after tying up loose ends, was no doubt heading this way.

The door crashes open, startling all of them, making Danny's heart race dangerously fast. He places a palm against his chest, hoping that it'll help ease some of the pain, make his heart stop trying to beat its way through the stitches.

"Put the gun down," Chin's voice, though it's not the voice that Danny's been expecting, is a very welcome sound.

Danny tries to sit up again, but his body quickly vetoes that idea, makes it impossible for him to do anything other than keep his hand pressed to his chest and turn his head to the side. Kono's placed herself directly between Capo's gun and Danny.

_Hold still, Danno. Don't try to move. _

Miniature Steve has his feet propped up on Danny's thumb, and is leaning back on his elbows, umbrella open as though he's seeking shade from the overly bright lights. It's so very unStevelike that Danny thinks maybe he's losing it. Steve doesn't lounge around, not when the shit's about to hit the fan, hell, not even when they're sitting out on the lanai at Steve's place, enjoying a beer and watching the sunset.

"Tell me, are you two just as close as your leader and his second in command?" Capo asks, a small grin on his face as he looks from Chin to Kono, the gun never wavering.

"I've read your files, googled past news stories," Capo says, almost conversationally, shrugging. "But there are some things that you just can't find in police files or on google, as thorough as the internet is nowadays."

He takes a step toward Kono, gun aimed at her heart.

"Does your relationship transcend that of cousinly affections? After your lovely wife died, in your arms, Detective Kelly, did you seek comfort in the arms of your beautiful cousin?" Capo isn't looking in Chin's direction, his eyes are locked on Danny's.

The words make Danny sick, and he can see that they're having the desired effect on Chin. The man's jaw is clenched tight, and his cheeks hold just a touch of red. Kono's practically vibrating with anger.

"Was she your very first sexual conquest?" Capo asks, warming to his subject, sensing in whatever it is that he sees in Danny's eyes, that it's working, that he's putting the cousins on the defensive.

"Did you teach her how to kiss?" He takes another step forward, the barrel of the gun nearly touching Kono's chest.

He's too busy watching Danny, though, to hear the door open, to see Steve slipping silently into the room. Too busy toying with his subjects' emotions to notice that the dynamic's shifted. Too busy reading Danny's reactions to pay attention to Kono, who, in one swift move manages to disarm Capo and slam a fist into his face, breaking his nose if the loud, resounding crack is anything to go by.

She twists the man's hand up behind his back, making him whimper, and Danny hears a very satisfied grunt from Steve, senses Chin's silent approval before darkness finally has its way, and starts to take Danny under. He's safe now. Steve's there.

The jarring sound of an alarm is the last thing that Danny hears as the darkness stakes its claim. Though, red umbrella acting like a parachute, mini Steve floats in the air above him, he's fading fast, darkness eating away at his cartoon like figure.

He shouts something at Danny that somehow makes its way through the cacophony of noise before he disappears completely, swallowed up by the darkness. The words, though Danny's surrounded by darkness so complete that it feels like it's seeping into his bones, echo around him and give him something to hold onto in a place where there is nothing else.

_Don't leave me, Danno. Not again. Please stay with me._

'Okay,' Danny thinks. 'I'll stay.'


	82. Every Heartbeat

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Sorry this one took so long. It kept being tricky, and I tried using a new writing program which just didn't work for me. Finally, I sat out on the lanai with my Google notebook and my ColorNote app, and wrote. Not sure how I like the end of this chapter...but it doesn't want to budge, and it isn't listening to reason. No, I'm not crazy. At least not any crazier than the rest.

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><p>"He's in cardiac arrest," one of the doctors says. He's focused on Danny, stethoscope draped around his neck.<p>

Steve feels like his own heart's stopped beating. This can't be happening. Not after everything that he's been through, after everything that Danny's been through.

It's insane, and unfair, and Steve wants to go back to the alley and kill Zanetti, because he needs to do something with his anger. Something that doesn't involve punching a doctor in the face, or shouting at Kono for not being aware that they were in danger until it was too late.

"I need you to clear the room," the doctor says, but Steve shakes his head, holds Danny's hand tighter, willing Danny's heart to start beating again without the aid of the doctors.

He knows, on some level, that it won't work, that the magic like the kind that he's banking on doesn't exist in the real world. That kind of magic, brought about by love, exists only in movies and fairy tales, like the ones that he's heard Danny read to Grace. Steve knows, intellectually, that the best thing for him to do is get out of the doctors way so that they can fix this. His heart, on the other hand, is telling him something far different, and he's not sure which one he can trust.

"C'mon Steve," Chin says, pulling at his arm.

Kono's prying at his fingers, trying to work them loose from Danny's hand, and shoving him in Chin's direction.

Releasing his grip on Danny's hand is like sliding off a mountain.

Falling wingless.

Climbing without a rope.

Hopeless.

It's not fair and Steve hates being so helpless. Hates that he's got to entrust Danny's care to others. That he's got to leave Danny with the doctors. That he can't stay with him to make sure that he's going to be okay, to speak life. To promise Danny whatever the hell it is that he needs to promise him to keep the man alive and by his side.

"Stop." Kono's voice is hard. Her lips are pressed together in a thin line, and she's trembling. "Just stop, Steve. You've got to let the doctors work on him. He's going to be okay. He's got to be okay."

"I'm not giving up on Danny," Steve says, running a hand through his hair. He's not.

He's just not sure he can keep going through this. Having Danny safe and in his sight one moment and then having his life hanging in the balance the next.

Steve sits heavily in the chair that Chin leads him to. It's uncomfortable and he hates it, but he's going to sit in there and wait until he gets word that Danny's alright, that he can return to the room and sit by his side in an even more uncomfortable chair.

Capo and Mullins are in police custody. Zanetti's in a hospital across town with a heavy guard of police. Steve should be off interrogating Capo and Mullins, though he doubts that Mullins knows anything of importance. He should be doing something other than sitting in the waiting room staring off into space, praying to whatever gods come to mind that Danny's going to be alright.

He's not going to give up.

He's not.

He's not going to let Zanetti or Capo win.

"It's going to be alright, Steve," Chin says, laying a supportive hand on his shoulder, handing him a cup of coffee and leaning back in his own chair.

"Why did he have to be so...so Danny? Kono asks, pulling a hand through her hair.

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><p>Danny's sleeping when Steve's allowed to return to the room, and there's no sense of the passage of time, just an intense need to see Danny for himself to believe that he's really alive. There's an almost peaceful look on Danny's face, as though he's only been sleeping this entire time, not battling for his life, again.<p>

To look at Danny now, no one would know that he almost died, for the third time. That doctors and nurses had brought him back from the brink of death just moments ago, finally allowing an anxious Steve into the room after getting Danny's ailing heart working and then stabilized. Several tense minutes had bled into an hour, and all that time, out in the waiting room, Chin and Kono had sat by Steve, plying him with coffee, speaking words of encouragement that he didn't hear, and just sitting there, holding his hand while he waited.

"You've got to stop doing this, Danno," Steve whispers, kissing Danny's forehead, then his lips.

He wonders if Danny was Sleeping Beauty, if it would be his kiss that would wake him, or Grace's. Knows that if he's thinking those types of thoughts, it's a sign that he's overtired, though he doesn't want to admit it.

There's still work to be done. Still people to bring down; an entire corrupt system to sort out, and Steve doesn't know how deep Capo's influence goes. How many people are a part of the odd little kingdom that the madman had tried to establish. It's bizarre, and yet it's not the strangest scheme that he's encountered over the years.

He traces a set of stitches on Danny's chest, already envisioning the scars that will take their place. Refusing to believe that Danny's heart will give out before then, or even after that. Danny's got the biggest, strongest heart of anyone that Steve knows.

"We should tell his family," Chin's voice is pitched low, neutral. But it's not a suggestion, and Steve knows that the older man is right, he's just not ready for the hospital to be flooded by the Williams, most of whom he's never met.

He doesn't know how much Danny's told his family about his life in Hawaii, about why he left. If he's mentioned his relationship with Steve, Steve's proposal, their engagement. Doesn't want to assume that things between them are still the same, that Danny still wants to marry him.

"Steve," Chin persists, places a hand on Steve's elbow. "Do you want me to make the calls?"

Yes, he does, but Steve shakes his head and takes a deep breath. This is something that he needs to do. He's Danny's partner, his lover, the man he hopes to someday be tied to forever. He needs to make the calls, because if he can't do this now, what will that mean for their future together?

Steve clears his throat. "I'll do it."

His fingers are still poised above Danny's heart and he can feel the heat radiating off of Danny. It's comforting.

Steve places his palm flat on Danny's chest, directly over his heart, closes his eyes, and counts each heartbeat, getting lost in the rhythm, grateful that, though it's a little quick, it's regular. Chin's hand is still on his elbow in a show of support that makes Steve feel indebted to the man.

"He needs his rest," Chin's voice is soft, reasonable. Steve knows what Chin isn't saying, that Steve needs to rest, too.

He doesn't want to rest, doesn't want to leave Danny's side. Doesn't want to do anything other than sit beside Danny and listen to his heart beat, make sure that it doesn't stop.

"I almost killed him," Steve confesses, Danny's heart thudding against his palm.

"Steve, what happened with Danny, it's not your fault," Chin says, tightening his grip on Steve's elbow.

Steve shakes his head, chuckles darkly. "Not talking about Danny, Chin. Zanetti, I almost killed Zanetti."

"Good," Kono's voice is unexpected, and Steve turns to look at her. She's got her hair, damp from a shower, pulled back in a ponytail, and Steve can see bruises on her knuckles. She's favoring one of her wrists, and Steve smiles in spite of everything.

"You really do pack quite a punch," Steve says, no small measure of pride in his voice.

"It's a damn good thing I do." There's no mistaking the venom in her quietly spoken words as anything other than red-hot anger, and Steve shares a look with Chin, who's eyeing his cousin with trepidation.

Kono flicks her ponytail, almost like a whip, and spears Steve and Chin with a deadly glare. She's practically vibrating with anger as she walks across the room, her hands clenching and unclenching, chest heaving.

"If you two ever," Kono jabs a finger in each of their direction, "pull a stunt like that again, I'll kill you." Her voice is soft, no doubt in deference to Danny's condition, the doctors having cautioned that he shouldn't be stressed or worked up over anything, that it could cause another setback if he is.

"Kono, we -" Steve's grateful that Chin speaks up in their defense, though Kono holds a hand up, reminiscent of Danny when he's gearing up for a lecture, eyes flashing dangerously, and Chin swallows his words.

"You should have given us a head's up," Kono whispers vehemently, nostrils flaring, hands pantomiming calling or texting in lieu of using words to communicate.

"We were sitting ducks here. No backup, no clue what was going on while you two knuckleheads went off like half-cocked Rambos," Kono's hands are practically flying as she spoke, revealing Danny's influence on the younger officer.

Steve opens his mouth to explain why they hadn't texted or called, but Kono glares at him and shakes her head, ponytail swishing behind her. "Save your excuses. I don't want to hear them. You put Danny and I in danger today. Unnecessarily."

"And you handled it exceedingly well," Steve says, hoping that his words sound more complimentary than fearful.

Kono huffs and shakes her head. "You know, I used to think that Danny was a little too tightly wound, that he should give you a little more slack, but I don't think that anymore. I think that he's right, that you do take too many chances, and, today, you took chances with, not only your own life, but also Danny's, Chin's and mine."

Danny's heartbeat beneath his palm anchors Steve. He can feel his cheeks burning, and wishes that the floor would swallow him up. Kono's eyes are glaring daggers into him, her words cut him to the quick, and his mouth is too dry to provide a suitable response to what she's said.

"We didn't mean to put you, or Danny, in any more danger than you were already in," Chin says, keeping his voice calm and neutral in the face of his cousin's very real anger, letting her know that Steve hadn't been acting alone in the decisions that were made that day. "We did the best we could with what we had, and made what we felt were the best decisions."

"And keeping Danny and I in the dark about Zanetti's little impromptu visit, was the best decision that you could make?" Kono rolls her eyes, places her hands on her hips, clearly not buying it.

"We didn't want to tip Zanetti off," Chin says.

"You know me better than that." Kono turns away from the two of them to look at Danny.

She brushes at a piece of lint on Danny's hospital gown. "You know Danny better than that."

"Kono, I'm sorry," Steve says, suddenly feeling every bit as tired as he is, grateful that Danny's heart is still steadily beating beneath his palm.

"He had a heart attack," Kono's voice cracks, and she scrubs angrily at her face. "And that doctor, Capo, he -"

"I'm sorry we put you in danger." Chin wraps an arm around Kono's shoulders and she buries her face in his chest, pounds her fists into it and grabs a fistful of the fabric. "We knew that you could handle it, though."

Kono raises a tear-streaked face to look at Chin, and Steve's relieved to see a smile. She thumps Chin once more and then pushes away from him.

"You've come a long way from your rookie years," Steve adds, hoping to restore the peace.

"That's not a valid excuse," Kono says, composing herself and straightening her shoulders. "I'm a competent police officer, and I can handle myself in a sticky situation, but don't think this gets either of you off the hook."

She points a menacing finger at each of them in turn, and Steve can only swallow and nod. He wishes that he'd left to make the calls Chin had told him to before Kono had finished her shower.

"Understood," Steve says, holding his hands up in surrender, missing the tha thump of Danny's heartbeat.

"Sure... Kono... can... get... through... that... thick... Army... skull... of... yours," Danny puffs out, voice weak, eyes closed. "But... when... I... try... to... talk ... some... sense... into... you..." Danny waves a hand as he loses the ability to speak.

"Danny." Steve grabs Danny's hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing it. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

"Can't... with... you... three... yam...mering... on... about... not...fo...foll...ow...ing...pro... proper... protocol..." Danny sighs and struggles to open his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Kono says in a voice completely devoid of her earlier anger.

Danny chuckles, a dry sounding thing that makes Steve wince and reach for the pitcher of water, only to have Chin hand him a full cup of the lukewarm substance. Steve presses a straw to Danny's lips and smiles when Danny opens his mouth and starts to drink, no questions or reservations, just blind trust.

Such a simple act, and yet it gives Steve hope, makes him think that maybe they will have a future together.

"You give 'em hell, Kono," Danny says, voice a little stronger. "They deserve it. And before you say it, I know, 'Navy, Danno, not Army.'"

"That's a terrible imitation of my voice, Danno," Steve says.

"I'll work on perfecting my apery," Danny says, voice fading, eyes still closed. "Soon as I get my strength back."

"Your apery, Danno?" Steve questions, squeezing Danny's hand, foolishly wanting to keep him talking, even though he needs his rest.

"Can't impersonate you, 'cause you gotta be a person to be impersonated." Danny chuckles at his own very poor joke, wheezing out something about how a seal is not a person. Steve doesn't quite catch it all, but he gets the gist of it.

"Very funny," Steve deadpans. "Laugh it up."

Kono and Chin join in on the laughter and Steve figures that he's beaten, hangs his head and waits it out. It's a welcome sound, laughter, even if it's in response to a very cheesy joke, that barely constitutes as such, about him.

When the laughter dies down, Steve kisses Danny's forehead. "Rest, Danny."

"'Kay, you too," Danny says, voice slurring as sleep starts to overtake him.

Danny drifts off and Steve watches him for several minutes. Watches Danny's chest as it rises and falls with each breath that he takes, and then he smiles, and, nodding to Chin and Kono, he walks out of the room to make the phone calls that he's been dreading. He has no idea what he's going to say, hopes that the right words will come to him when he needs them.


	83. Mixing Metaphors with the Devil Part I

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** No visiting Williams quite yet; wrapping up loose ends with Capo in the next couple of chapters, which decided that they wanted to be written today. Hope that this doesn't disappoint. Remember, 60's - 80's style bad guys (cheesiness and ridiculous motivations; done purposefully). Thanks to everyone who's shown support for this through reviews. Your reviews have spurred me to write, and inspired me as well, so, much mahalos.

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><p>Steve begins to second-guess his decision to question Capo himself when the doctor starts comparing Danny to a chess piece. Chin and Kono are on the other side of the two-way mirror, watching the interrogation, and Steve knows that if things get out of hand, one, or both of them won't hesitate to interrupt, and take over, should they need to.<p>

Kono and Chin had booked a room at a hotel two days ago and were working on bringing down the corrupt chief of police, working through the proper channels to see just how far Capo's warped influence stretches. Keeping Governor Denning abreast of the situation, they are working in concert with the Governor of New Jersey, unsure of the mayor, who seems to have a connection to the chief of police.

It's a mess, and Danny was caught smack dab in the middle of it all - like a fly in a spider's web. If he'd died in that alley, no one would have been the wiser and he'd have been buried as a John Doe, no one to mourn his passage from one life to the next.

It angers Steve. Danny was no more than a pawn in Capo's twisted mind. A pawn Capo had been hoping to promote to status of knight, eventually king, to Capo's queen. Capo hadn't counted on his other pawns becoming jealous and greedy, though, nor had he counted on Danny's stubbornness, and his strong tie to his daughter and Steve.

It makes Steve sick, thinking about all that Capo has already 'confessed' to during the interrogation - arranged by Governor Denning. Steve knows that Capo is trying to mess with his head and get under his skin like he'd done in the hospital room with Kono and Chin, like he'd been doing to Danny for several months.

He's trying to provoke a reaction out of Steve, by confessing how he'd used the ruse of an undercover operation to break Danny down. How, because of his already weakened state of mind after his experience in the box, it was almost like child's play to draw out the worst that was inside of Danny. How easy it was for him to create a new persona for Danny that would allow him to give release to the darkness within. How simple it was for him to strip Danny of everything that had made him the man that he'd been before the box, before leaving Hawaii, before leaving Steve.

"It, he, was becoming a thing of beauty," Capo brags, broad smile fixed in place. "My work with him was almost complete, and would have been had that idiot trying to take his place. I should have known that my attentions would instill such petty jealousies amongst the peasants. They are only men after all, and not gods."

Steve leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "So, what does that make you? A god?"

_Narcissism, _the word pops into Steve's head. It doesn't surprise Steve that the man thinks he's a god. He's toying with people, after all. Has been doing so for years if the records that Chin and Kono had uncovered in the man's office - using a warrant - are to be trusted.

Capo laughs and leans forward, elbows resting on the table between them. He shakes his head, a sad, bitter smile replacing the earlier, confident one. "Not quite yet. I was almost there; it was the detective who would have brought me to that hallowed status. But you," Capo stabs a finger at Steve, handcuffs jingling, "stole him from me."

"He was never yours to begin with, Capo," Steve says, leaning forward, meeting Capo's angry gaze with one of his own.

Capo snorts and waves a hand between them, being magnanimous. "Yes, well, I suppose that it was only fair, after all, I stole him from you first. He's a man worth fighting for, isn't he Lieutenant Commander?"

Steve manages to keep his temper in check, just barely, and he presses his palms flat on the table. If he doesn't, he'll be wrapping them around Capo's neck. Steve suspects that the deranged doctor knows that.

"Danny isn't a toy," Steve says, keeping his voice even, "and he's not some kind of bargaining chip. No owns Danny."

"No." Capo takes a deep breath, leans back, as though sensing Steve's ill-will toward him. "As we both know, he's so much more than that. Though, you are wrong on one point, Danny _can_ be owned. But you already know that, or you wouldn't be here, talking to me, trying to figure out how to make him yours once again. The real question is, are you prepared for the fight? Are you man enough, McGarrett, to win our Danny's affections back?"

Steve wants to dive across the table and strangle the smug doctor, but he doesn't. He won't get answers from the man using his fists or his knife. Capo isn't like Zanetti. Force won't work with him.

Capo's a man who values intellect and uses methods of psychology, like Steve uses a knife. Blunt force and physical threats will do very little to sway the doctor. Steve wishes that Danny was there, because Danny would know how to play the game and get Capo to talk. At least, he would have, prior to his time spent in the box, prior to falling victim to the doctor's sick game.

Steve can't lose his cool now, because there's too much hanging in the balance, not the least of which is Danny. Danny, who's family is going to be visiting the hospital in less than a day's time. The doctors had okayed the visit, stressing that it would need to be a calm, relatively short visit. Steve's nervous about meeting Danny's family, unsure of what he's going to tell Danny's parents and sisters. He didn't tell them much on the phone, just that Danny was in the hospital.

"You know, he talked about you," Capo says, bringing Steve back to the present, sensing a change in Steve, wanting to dig the barb in deeper. "During our session. Said that he felt guilty leaving you, and that little girl of his, what is her name?"

There's a dark twinkle in the man's eye, as though he's caught Steve and is now reeling him in. He folds his hands on the table in front of him, almost casually.

Steve leans back, fingers splayed on the table, forcing his mind away from thoughts of Danny at the hospital, undergoing tests to determine how soon he can leave the hospital and what kind of physical therapy he will need to go through to regain his strength. He's good at this. Good at compartmentalizing his feelings. Good at playing games with criminals, though he much prefers to use different methods.

"You must think I'm the brainless Neanderthal that Danny sometimes accuses me of being," Steve says, keeping his eyes trained on Capo's who starts to fidget, eyes flickering to his interlocked hands.

Steve leans forward. "I'm not. Whatever Danny said to you about me, and about anyone else, is privileged information that you're not at liberty to discuss with me, or anyone else, no matter how fucked up that head of yours is."

Capo's lip twitches, and he narrows his eyes at Steve. "I was doing your precious little detective a favor, ridding him of all of those petty insecurities that plague all of mankind. Fashioning him into something better, stronger, a being without inhibitions."

His nostrils flare, the handcuffs make a jarring noise as he moves his hands jerkily.

Knowing that he's pressed one of Capo's buttons, Steve crosses his arms on the table and inches forward, closing the small space between them, even as Capo strives to maintain his distance, leaning back until there's no more room for him to move. It's almost comical, except Steve's aware of what's at stake.

"Does it bother you, at all, that you've got to wait for someone as broken as Danny to practice your _medicine_ on?" The words taste bitter on Steve's tongue, and his gut twists, but he doesn't let any of that show on his face, because Danny's welfare, as well at that of an entire police precinct, maybe more, is hanging in the balance. Steve doesn't have time to mince words, not if he wants answers. Not if he wants to get back to Danny soon and prepare him for the onslaught of his family's visit.

"I mean, it's got to sting a little that you've got to wait until someone is in Danny's weakened mental state before you can work your magic," Steve says, eyebrow arching. "That you are...how can I put this delicately...?"

"How dare you?" Capo hisses. He comes at Steve, in spite of the cuffs that keep him chained to the table, face red with anger.

Steve leans back and smiles, places his hands behind his head. "Uh uh doctor, you wouldn't assault an officer of the law, would you?"

The doctor settles back in his seat, placid mask once more in place. "Touche," he says.

"See, you did think I was the stupid one," Steve says, warming to the game, knowing what it'll take to break Capo like the doctor had strived to break Danny. A nudge here, a suggestion there, and Steve will have the man questioning his own sanity, which is already balancing on a very thin line.

"I'm beginning to think that you're not all brawn with a pretty face," Capo concedes, and Steve can practically see the machinations going on behind the man's hard eyes.

Steve's dealt with this kind of man before, and knows which buttons to push, how to instill fear without even lifting a finger. It takes time and patience, and though Steve's heart insists that he be with Danny, he knows that if he leaves now, Capo will never crack. Not because Chin and Kono aren't competent interrogators, but because Capo's only interested in severing the connection that Steve has to Danny, and isolating the man once again.

It's Isolation that Danny had ultimately been afraid of, which had driven him mad and then driven him from Steve. It was that same sense of isolation which had attracted Capo to Danny in the first place, and made it easy for the man to manipulate him.

Isolation is the key, and Steve's willing to bet that it's what Capo is most afraid of himself, because he knows that often times people fear most what they see, and try to eliminate, or capitalize upon, in others.

The Bible verse, _Matthew 7:3,_ "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?" comes to mind, though Steve has no idea how it got there, thinks it might have to do with mother's influence when he'd been a kid and they'd gone to church. He'd never stuck with the practice after his mother 'died,' because he had refused to believe in a god who would take his mother from him and his family. Now that he knows the truth of his mother's 'death' he doubts that god would have anything to do with him were he to change his mind.

"Far from it, doctor," Steve uses the man's formal title though Capo's as far from a doctor as one can get. He forces tense muscles to relax. "We both know that Danny's the pretty one."


	84. Mixing Metaphors with the Devil Part II

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Hope that this doesn't disappoint. I believe that, given what this team has done to protect the 'okole of each member of their 'ohana, on the show, this scenario isn't completely unprecedented. ('okole = ass) ('ohana = family; extended family). Thanks for the catch, TheDogo, I was experiencing difficulties with the doc manager - it kept deleting words that I didn't want deleted. :P

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><p>"What the hell is he doing?" Kono asks, pacing in front of the mirror, throwing her hands up and finally stopping to stand in front of the mirror and glare at Steve who's engaged in what appears to be an intimate discussion with Capo.<p>

"Giving Capo a taste of his own medicine," Chin says, though he winces when Steve says something particularly scathing about what Danny had been like after he'd been removed from the box. Detailing how weak the blonde detective had been, and how he'd been terrified of the dark, how Steve had put up with it, because that's what was expected of him.

Steve appears to be interested in what Capo has to say, excited even, when the doctor talks about how he'd used Danny's fear of the dark, of small, tight spaces to break him of those very fears, and yet keep him beholden to them. It was genius, and, had the doctor not been doing those things to help Danny, Chin might even be impressed.

"It sounds to me like he's giving Capo more ammunition to use against Danny," Kono says, pressing her palms against the glass partition.

Chin places a hand on Kono's shoulder, it's tense and he regrets that Steve and he hadn't given her and Danny a heads up about their plan. "He knows what he's doing."

"Pardon me while I question you and Steve with your covert way of handling things," Kono bites the words out, and shrugs Chin's hand off. "We should take over, Chin. Steve's too close to this."

"And we're not?" Chin asks softly. "We care about Danny, too, Kono. Capo isn't going to talk to us though. He's interested in Steve and Danny, because he's finally realizing what we already knew, that you can't have one or the other. Steve and Danny are a package deal."

Kono turns to look at him, and Chin pulls her into a hug, in spite of the fact that she's got her hands balled up in fists. This whole damn mess has been hard on all of them, and he can't wait until it's over.

"The way he's talking about Danny," Kono says, "it's like he never loved him."

"I know, but, he's breaking Capo down, getting him to trust him, and Capo's starting to slip up," Chin says, willing Kono to listen beyond the callous way that Steve's speaking about Danny for the information that he's gleaning from Capo.

"I take back what I said earlier," Steve says, voice filled with pride that Chin knows is fake, but makes him feel sick anyway. "You're not insane, you've got a brilliant mind."

"Brilliant mind, but still insane," Chin mutters, watching as Capo preens at the praise, sitting up taller in his chair, handcuffs clinking against the table.

"Together, we could finish the work I started with the detective," Capo says, eyes shining.

Kono holds her breath, places her fists on the glass partition, presses her forehead against it, and Chin stands close, hand resting on her back. Steve's jaw is clenched tight, the only visible sign of how hard this is for him.

"I'd like that very much," Steve says, leaning across the table. "Tell me what you were planning."

Kono breathes out and closes her eyes. There's a small smile on her face as Capo explains, not only what his plans for Danny were, but what he'd been planning for the whole city. It's truly terrifying in scope.

"And what is the Mayor's role in all of this again?" Steve asks, head resting in a hand, giving off the appearance that he's hanging on Capo's every word.

"See, that's the beauty of it. He was one of my clients, before the gods spoke to me. He was my first, but he's imperfect. I've already put everything in place to eliminate him." Capo places a hand on Steve's arm.

"When?" Steve asks, not flinching.

"Tomorrow afternoon." Capo smiles, traces a scar on Steve's thumb with a forefinger. "It's going to be spectacular. I'd wanted to give Danny the honor of killing him, but someone lesser will have to do. Unless..." Capo gives Steve a speculative look and grips Steve's hand, rubbing his thumb over it.

Chin can see that Steve's about to snap in the way that the man's feet shift beneath the table, where Capo can't see. It's Steve's only tell, other than the way that his jaw twitches.

"It's a good thing we're getting all of this all on tape," Kono says, head popping up off the glass as she pushes away to resume pacing, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. "I can't believe the level of insanity. Does he even know what he's saying, how crazy it sounds? Does he actually think that Steve is going to volunteer to kill the Mayor?"

"You want me to do it," Steve's voice is matter-of-fact. He pulls his hand free of Capo's grasp, only making the unstable man want him more.

"You'd be perfect," Capo says, practically salivating at the thought.

Steve nods and then leans across the table until he's inches from Capo's face, close enough to kiss, or strangle the man.

Chin stops the tape, holding a finger up to Kono who opens her mouth to protest. He shakes his head, and turns her around so that she doesn't witness what Steve does next. The fewer witnesses, the better. He knows Kono's going to turn around, even before she does it.

Steve cups the back of Capo's neck with the hand Capo had held, rubs his thumb over the nape. He stares into the man's eyes and then purses his lips, waits until they're millimeters apart before slamming Capo's head against the table once, and then a second time.

Steve twists Capo's head to the side, ignoring the fresh blood that flows from the man's nose that Kono had broken the day before, as well as the man's blubbering pleas. Steve's broken the nose again. He pins Capo's head in place, leans down until his lips brush against the man's ear.

"That's for messing with my partner's head," Steve says in a voice that nearly causes Chin's blood to run cold.

Steve rounds the table, still keeping Capo's head pressed against the surface of it. He yanks on the handcuffs, bringing the man's hands up, and placing them on the table beside the man's head. Capo whimpers.

Steve kneels so that Capo can see into his eyes, which are cold and deadly.

"This is why Danny calls me a Neanderthal," Steve says, smiling. "You see, if he was here, he'd be telling me to stop right about now. He'd actually be protecting scum like you. Not because he cares about scum, but because he cares about me. The reason your demented plan didn't work was because you don't know Danny, not the way I do."

"Should we go in there now?" Kono asks, eyes glued to the scene unfolding before her.

"You shouldn't be watching this," Chin says, knowing it's a lost cause. Kono's too much like Steve, too much like him and Danny, too much like all of them.

Kono snorts and laughs at Chin's protest, though she sobers up quickly when Steve pulls his knife out and jams it into the table next to Capo's bleeding nose.

"Think Capo's going to complain about police brutality?"

Chin crosses his arms over his chest. "Even if he does, he's not going to be garnering any sympathy after what he's confessed to."

"What..." Capo swallows, eyes crossing as they try to focus on the knife that's still vibrating from where it's stuck in the table. "What are you going to do to me?"

"What you tried to do to Danny, by isolating him from his family and friends," Steve says, pulling the knife free. His voice is low and menacing, mouth close to Capo's ear. Steve digs the tip of the knife into the table, close to the webbing between Capo's thumb and index finger, twists it.

"I'm going to have you put into the deepest, darkest hole that the prison system has to offer," Steve says, letting the knife slip and catching it before it can do more than nick Capo's thumb. A small bead of blood wells up, and Steve backs away from Capo, who, even though he's free, stays put, as though he's frozen in place.

The psychologist is breathing heavily through his mouth, eyes seeking out Steve. "You...you can't do that."

"That's where you're wrong," Steve says. "I can, and I will. You'll spend the rest of your pathetic life locked away where no one will hear your crazy ramblings. It'll be just you, four solid walls and darkness so deep that you'll feel like you're drowning in it. There'll be no one to talk to, no one to manipulate, no one to feel sorry for you."

Steve gets into Capo's face and taps him on the cheek, making the man flinch, before walking away.

Steve opens the door and walks out when Capo starts to threaten with everything from the loss of his job to the loss of life. He shuts the door behind him, and Chin can see in the stiff way that his friend walks that it's hard for him to walk away and not finish what he's started with Capo. There's a small part of Chin that wants to see Steve take Capo apart with his hands, a slightly bigger part that wants to help.

"Holy shit," Kono breathes out.

"That about sums it up," Chin says, smiling wryly and dragging his hands through his hair, wondering how he's going to explain Capo's freshly broken nose to the authorities who aren't under the man's thumb.

He knows that Steve's already on his way to the hospital, trusting him and Kono to take care of everything else. He doesn't mind, knows where he'd be if their roles were reversed, knows how Steve's skin must be crawling with what he had to do to get answers from Capo.

In this case,Chin thinks, the ends do justify the means, and he sends up a prayer of thanks to Malia.

"What are we going to tell the officers when they come to collect him?" Kono asks, gesturing toward Capo, who still hasn't moved a muscle.

"The truth," Chin says, smiling when Kono's brow furrows and she opens her mouth to protest. "That Capo slammed his head into the table when Steve refused to do what he wanted. That the doctor was trying to set Steve up because he couldn't manipulate him."

Kono snaps her mouth shut, and frowns at him. "That was mean."

Chin shrugs.

"How are we going to explain the lack of video feed while that was taking place?" Kono asks.

"A glitch," Chin says, and he start to record again when Capo raises his head, pressing trembling fingers to his broken nose. He calls for an officer to come transfer Capo to the infirmary. The officer doesn't question the explanation.

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><p>As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and encourage me to write - communication from readers spurs me on. Thank you to those who have reviewed; especially those who've left an anonymous review. I am grateful.<p> 


	85. Family and Revelations

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Written using Written?Kitten! and while listening to a number of different songs before, "Honey," by Torres, became the ultimate inspiration for this. I hope that this chapter isn't too sappy or all over the place. It's fluffy and possibly cheesy, and maybe too 'feminine'. I thought it was going to be complete at 3000 words, but it's a little over double that.

**A/N 2:** This story is AU, and doesn't match the events of the show, so Danny's mother hasn't visited him on the island as of yet.

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><p>"Oh, I promise doctor, we'll be very quiet."<p>

The muffled sounding voice is very familiar and Danny fights the cobwebs in his head to put a name to it. He feels a straw at his lips and Steve's five-o'clock-shadow brushing against his own, recently shaved, (by Steve) cheek. He takes a sip of the water, and doesn't protest when his bed's raised and the pillow beneath him is fluffed.

"Could get used to that," Danny mumbles, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He's still struggling to open his eyes when he takes another sip of the soothing liquid.

The sound of a throat clearing nearby pushes Danny to try harder to get his eyes to cooperate with him. Danny knows he should recognize the owner of that dry sounding cough, but his mind's still a little fuzzy, no doubt from the drugs that are pumping through his veins, keeping him relatively calm and pain free.

"I...Danny?" the voice that Danny's still trying to place says, and he feels a distinctly female hand rest tentatively atop his own. A sob escapes the woman, and Danny forces his eyes open, his heart nearly doubling its tempo when, even with his eyes open, he doesn't recognize the owner of the voice because his vision's still unclear.

"Hey, Danno, it's okay." Danny searches out the faces around him - now that his eyes are finally open, he can see that there are several people in his room - for the one that belongs to Steve. "Take it easy, partner."

"Steve?" Danny feels small and well out of his element, wonders if the doctors, or Zanetti and his men, are back, though the atmosphere around him doesn't feel heavy or dangerous. Danny shifts his hand beneath the slight weight of the woman's hand and searches out Steve's, ignoring a second broken sounding sob that accompanies his actions.

"I'm right here," Steve says, and then he's grasping Danny's hand, holding it tight. "Do you need me to get the doctors?"

Danny purses his lips and shakes his head. He's had enough of doctors and nurses to last him a lifetime. What he needs right now is for his eyes to start functioning the way that eyes are _supposed _to function, and for the fog to clear from his mind.

"I need you to do me a favor and calm down, Danny," Steve says, his voice low and soothing. "Can you do that for me?"

Danny nods, forces a breath through his nose and then holds his breath as he counts to ten, before letting it out. He repeats the process until his chest is no longer tight and Steve's face is no longer a blur. It's something that he'd practiced with one of the physical therapists, and though he'd been skeptical at first, it had worked.

"That's it, Danny."

Steve smiles at him. It's a tight, nervous smile and Danny frowns.

"What's wrong?" Danny asks, voice sounding like he's swallowed a frog.

He's worried, wondering if he'll have to pretend to be Mickey again, though he has a vague memory of Steve explaining to him that he'd taken care of Zanetti and Capo and that Kono and Chin were working with the local authorities and the FBI to finish rounding up those who were in cahoots with Capo, or under his control. Danny doesn't fully comprehend everything yet, and there's a part of him that really doesn't care about any of it just so long as he can put it all behind him and move on.

"Your family's here," Steve says, voice strained. "Remember, we talked about this yesterday?"

He does remember. Remembers Steve pacing the room and telling Danny about the calls he'd made, and how the doctors had approved a visit - as long as it was brief and stress free - and how he hoped that Danny was okay with it. It hadn't been a discussion as much as it had been a confession on Steve's part, because he'd told Danny's family about the shooting, though not any of the gory details, and had given them a head's up about his condition.

"I remember," Danny says, a little defensively, and he chances a look at the people who are standing, a little awkwardly, just behind Steve. "There's nothing wrong with my head."

"I'd beg to differ with that," his father says, moving forward to stand next to Steve.

Danny winces at the slightly angry tone that his father uses, and he bites his lip. Steve squeezes his hand and Danny takes comfort from the gesture.

"I'd better go, let you have some time alone with your family," Steve says, releasing his grip on Danny's hand.

Danny refuses to let go, though, and turns his eyes away from his father, silently begging Steve to stay. He loves his family. Really. They're wonderful and loving, but right now he can't stand the thought of facing them alone, not after everything that's happened. Not after what he's done, who he's become.

"You don't need to leave, Mr. McGarrett," his mother says. She places a hand on Steve's shoulder and smiles down at Danny. "It's clear that our son would like you to stay, and the doctors did say that we shouldn't upset him."

Danny can tell that, for his sake, she's trying not to cry, and he hates that he's put his mother in this position.

"Call me, Steve, Mrs. Williams." Steve's voice cracks a little toward the end, and he clears his throat to mask the sound.

"Clara," his mother says, winking at Danny as she holds out her hand to Steve and they shake.

Danny wishes that the hospital bed would swallow him up. He's spoken to his mother, at length, about Steve, about how much he loves the man, and he knows that she's teasing both of them right now, in spite of her very obvious worry for him.

"Clara, pleasure to meet you. In person." Steve looks like he's been forced to swallow a mouthful of tacks, and his palm's grown sweaty in Danny's hand.

"You can call me, Mr. Williams," Danny's father says and Danny groans when Steve swallows nervously and nods as he shakes the proffered hand.

"Nice to officially meet you," Clara says. "Danny's told me _a lot _about you."

"Hopefully it's all good stuff," Steve says, a little nervously, and Danny can practically hear the man's mind working as he's no doubt going over all of the tight places that they've been in - how often he's put the both of them in danger.

"Oh, it's all good," Karen, Danny's sister, says, sidling up to the bed and winking at Danny. His sister has come without her husband and children, which Danny is silently grateful for - he loves them, but right now he's a little too tired to deal with that many people.

"_Very_ good," Karen adds.

Danny closes his eyes and groans. This is not good for his heart, not at all. He'd shared certain _details_ with his sister about his relationship with Steve, because he hadn't had anyone else to talk to, now he wonders if he had been in his right mind at the time.

"Son." His father rests a hand on his knee and jiggles it. "You okay?"

Danny opens his eyes, grimacing. "I'm fine, Pop."

"Look, he's blushing," Karen says, and there's definitely glee in her voice, her lip's curled upward in a smug grin that Danny wants to wipe off her face.

"I really should go," Steve says, eyes comically wide. Danny maintains the grip that he has on Steve's hand, refusing to let the man leave him.

"That won't be necessary, Steve." Danny's father's voice is just shy of being stern. "If I'm to understand this correctly, you and my son are...a couple?"

Danny holds his breath, tightens his grip on Steve's hand when it becomes clear that he's about to bolt. Steve's face is a bright shade of pink, and his eyes seem to be searching for an escape route.

"Emotionally retarded," Danny mutters to himself, no real acrimony in his assessment of his partner. He knows that it's not exactly a fair judgement, but he's a little stressed as well, in spite of his mother's admonishment to the doctor that they wouldn't cause him any stress.

He'd meant to tell Steve that he'd told his parents about their relationship. It had been on the tip of his tongue for months after they'd become a serious couple, but there'd always been a case, or something else that had taken precedence, and then his life had come unglued and he hadn't been able to focus on anything other than trying to recover.

Steve stiffens, and he gets a panicked look in his eyes, and Danny just wants to kiss him, reassure him that everything's okay, that his parents aren't going to eat him alive, in spite of his father putting on this overprotective act.

"Danny," Steve practically whines, voice pleading. "I...I should check on Chin and Kono. Make sure that -"

"Babe, it's okay," Danny says, tugging on Steve's hand and beckoning him closer so that he can kiss him. Steve's fingers fly to his lips, as though they've been burned, and Danny almost laughs. It's endearing, Steve's shyness in front of his family.

Steve blushes a deeper shade of red and he turns to face Danny's father. "Yeah, I uh...I uh...I..."

His father raises an eyebrow, the edge of a lip quirking upward the only sign that he's merely teasing Steve. Danny wants to smack his father, not that he ever would, because that's just wrong on so many levels.

"You, what?" Danny's father asks. "From what I've heard tell of, you've put my son's life in danger on countless occasions."

Steve opens his mouth and closes it, a panicked look on his face that makes Danny's heart go out to him. He frowns at his father and pierces him with a look that tells him to 'knock it off'. His father shrugs in return, crossing his arms over his chest, and Danny realizes that this is an interrogation the likes of which he hadn't thought would happen after he'd survived the high school years.

"I'm sorry, sir," Steve says, raising his head and meeting Danny's father's gaze. "I...your son has taught me a great deal about police work, and I -"

"Pop," Danny says, making a chopping motion with his hand as he says, "enough. Steve's not put me in any danger that I've not unwillingly gone into. It's a two-way street. We're partners and -"

"Dom, we're not supposed to upset Danny," his mother intervenes, giving his father a pointed look, keeping her voice even. There's some tension there, and Danny frowns at that, wondering what's going on between his parents.

"I'm fine, Ma," Danny assures her, though in reality he _is_ tired, and it feels like he's run a marathon, on one leg.

"Pop, Ma, Karen, this," he raises his hand up and then down, encompassing Steve's tall frame in the gesture, "is Steven J. McGarrett, the man that I love."

Steve gives him a tentative smile and squeezes Danny's hand, eyes searching Danny's face as though fearful that he's lying. Danny rolls his eyes, and pulls Steve down for another kiss, this one a little longer and more intimate than the last one. Karen makes a low whistling sound, and Danny's mother makes a happy sound at the back of her throat. His father coughs, a little uncomfortably, and Danny reluctantly lets Steve pull away, mainly because he's short of breath.

After straightening himself, Steve turns to face Danny's father, cheeks red, eyes shining with love. "Sir, I love your son, and I've asked him to marry me," he blurts out, eyes bugging out when he realizes what he's said.

Danny's father shoots a look at him, and Danny nods, a smile splitting his face. He hasn't felt this light in what feels like forever.

"You sure about this, son?" he asks.

"Yeah, Pop, I am," Danny says, the words feeling thick in his throat as tears threaten. Damn drugs making him overly emotional.

"I love him, and, if he's still willing to have me after what I did..." Danny closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Well, I'd like to spend the rest of my life with him."

His father takes a deep breath, a thoughtful look on his face. Danny holds his breath and Steve's hand nearly crushes his from holding it so tight.

"Honestly, Dom," his mother says, whacking his father on the arm and then pulling Steve into a hug. She holds him at arm's length and then pulls him close, and kisses him on the cheek.

"You can be so stubborn. If this man makes our son happy, who are we to stand in the way?" she asks, throwing her hands wide and hitting his father in the arm again.

"I was just making sure, Clara," his father says, rubbing his arm and scowling.

"Well, I for one, am happy that Danny's finally come to his senses," Karen says, kissing him on the forehead and then rubbing her lipstick off with a thumb. She turns to kiss Steve on the cheek, and then does the same, eyes shining with tears.

Karen had listened to Danny talk about Steve when he'd first left Hawaii. She hadn't passed judgement on Danny, or said anything to indicate that she thought he was a fool. She'd let him vent and cry, and then she'd suggested that he stop running away, and go back to Steve.

He wishes that he had listened to her, that he'd returned to Steve instead of taking on a shady undercover job. All of this could have been avoided had he just listened to reason - had he just trusted his own heart.

"We were all so worried about you," his mother says, and Steve moves aside, squeezing Danny's hand before finally releasing it, but staying in Danny's line of vision.

"First you disappeared, and then Grace called, on her birthday, looking for you, and we knew that something was wrong." His mother brushes at tears, and he holds her hand.

"I'm sorry, Ma, Pop, Karen," Danny says, throat tight. "I thought I had everything under control, that I'd do this one job and..." he looks to Steve as words fail him completely.

"You and your father are two of the most stubborn people I've ever met," his mother says suddenly, straightening up her small frame. "Honestly, Daniel Williams, you need to apologize to the man that you love and then you need to get better so that you can go home with him. Make honest men out of the two of you."

She cups his cheek with a hand and brushes aside a stray tear that Danny hadn't even realized had escaped. He feels all of five years old again, caught with his hand in the cookie jar, sneaking a cookie before dinner. Except this is much more worse, and the guilt is much heavier.

Danny draws in a shuddering breath and nods. He catches Steve's eye and feels an almost overwhelming wave of love wash over him.

His father pats his knee and offers him a smile. "You've got my blessing, son. I just wanted to be sure that you knew what you were getting into. Your breakup with Rachel nearly killed you. I just don't want you to be hurt."

"Thank you, Pop," Danny whispers around the lump in his throat.

His father strides over to Steve and enfolds him in a hug that causes Steve to squeak. He kisses him on either cheek and then releases him.

"I love my son. I want what's best for him. He's always been passionate, and once he gets something into his head, he's like one of them pit-bulls, doesn't let it go until he's chewed it all to pieces and it's been thought to death. He's got his mother's affinity for words -"

"And his father's stubborn streak," his mother pipes up, giving Danny's father an odd look.

"I understand, sir, ma'am," Steve says, back stiff, arms to his side, retreating to the safety of formality in the midst of so much emotion. Danny wishes that he could wrap Steve in a great big hug and ease some of his discomfort.

"Oh, honey," Danny's mother's voice is filled with tenderness and she reaches for Steve, pulling him toward the bed to stand beside her. She sighs deeply and rubs his back. "None of that formality. We aren't going to bite, promise."

Danny opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut, his cheeks growing red when he almost lets slip a quip about Steve and biting. It's a story that no one, least of all his mother and father, need to hear. He blames the near slip of the tongue on the drugs, which are starting to wear off if the ache that he feels in his chest is anything to go by.

"I don't think you do understand, son," Danny's father says, standing on the other side of Steve and clasping an arm around his shoulder. Danny can see Steve stiffen and he winces in sympathy. His father's an intimidating man when he wants to be, and it's clear to Danny that his father wants to be intimidating.

"My son loves you, and I've just given him my blessing to marry you. When he loves, he loves with all of his heart. He's not someone who dabbles in things. He's either all in or all out. Hot or cold. My Daniel isn't wishy-washy." His father waggles his hand in the air and then lets it drop to rest on the top of Danny's.

"What my father is trying to say," Karen says, drily, "is that my little brother can be a stubborn jackass at times. He's not perfect, and when he gets an idea in that thick skull of his, whether it's good or bad, he'll act on it. But, if you hurt him, you'll have the Williams' to answer to, even if he is being a stubborn ass and doing something monumentally stupid."

Danny's grateful that she doesn't mention his most recent act of stupidity in running away from Steve and Hawaii. His parents don't know much about that - he'd told them he was on vacation.

He hadn't told them about the box either. Hadn't wanted to worry them with something they couldn't do anything about. Steve had tried to get him to call home, he'd refused to let him tell his parents, he supposes that's why Steve didn't ask his permission to call them this time.

Steve gives Danny a wide-eyed look and swallows, clearly nervous, which is so uncharacteristic that it warms Danny's heart. Steve is rarely nervous. Uncomfortable with kids and hysterical witnesses, yes, but nervous, never. Danny glares at his sister, and manages to flip her the bird without his mother seeing.

"Danny and Karen, I'd have thought that you two would have outgrown those juvenile behaviors by now," his mother says, sighing, and Danny quickly schools his face into a mask of innocence. "Daniel, don't think that I didn't see that lewd gesture."

"Are you sure you want to marry my brother?" Karen asks, flipping Danny off behind their mother's back, and sticking her tongue out. "He can be such a kid."

Steve looks a little overwhelmed, and Danny would rescue him, except for the fact that he looks so damn adorable when he's all flustered. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Pop, I hurt Steve. I was wishy-washy. Things got too much awhile back, and I uh...I kind of ran away," Danny says in a burst, voice quiet, breaking the almost companionable silence that had descended upon the room.

He feels tears burning his eyes at the confession, and, though he's a grown man, there's a part of him that's worried about disappointing his father. The man might claim to be a man of few words, but when he wants to, as he's demonstrated, he can give all of them a run for their money in the loquacious department.

His father had never hesitated to lecture Danny and his siblings when he felt that it was warranted. He'd also not been a stranger to the using spankings when he felt that the situation merited them - growing up, Danny's backside had smarted on numerous occasions, but his father had never used excessive force, had never abused him or his brother and sister.

There's no doubt in Danny's mind that admitting to his mother and father that he'd failed to face a tough situation, head on, meant that one of his father's long-winded lectures (Danny had come by them quite honestly) was forthcoming. His mother's hand tightens on his.

"Daniel, honey, we're not mad at you," she says, giving him a sad, yet understanding smile. "I can't pretend to even understand what happened to you, and I'm not going to ask you to tell me about it, but I am going to ask that you talk to someone about it, baby." She brushes a stray strand of hair off of his forehead.

"We love you, sweetheart, and I..." she traces a finger beneath her eye, catching a tear before it can roll down her face and make her mascara run. "Sweetheart, we want you to be happy."

"Son, whatever happened before today is in the past. You need to put it behind you. Today's a new day, and..." his father trails off, and Danny risks a look at his father, surprised to see that the man's blue eyes are shining, and his mouth is twisted with emotion.

"And, son, you know how I feel about cliches, but, really, it's a gift, and I have an inkling that this young man standing next to me is a gift as well. Danny, seems to me that you've been given many second chances. Hell, maybe even some third chances - there was that one time with the ceiling fan when your mother and I thought that -"

"Pop," Danny groans, palming his face. "Please not that story."

"I take it Steve hasn't heard that one?" his father asks, the lecturing tone temporarily derailed at the prospect of telling an infamous, when-Danny-was-a-toddler, story.

"I'd very much like to hear that story," Steve interjects before Danny can protest. Danny glares at him through his fingers, and Steve shrugs, eyes twinkling.

"Well, when Danny was three," Danny's father starts, waxing to the subject, arm tightening around Steve's shoulders.

"He got it into his head that he was going to fly. And, well, you know how Danny gets when he has an idea," his father says, hand waving in the air between them.

Steve nods, a completely serious look on his face, though his eyes are still sparkling with humor in spite of Danny's now more blatant glare.

Karen giggles. "This is a great story, oh, and have you heard about the time that Danny -"

"Don't you dare," Danny growls, pointing a finger at his sister and shaking his head, already knowing where this is going. "Or I'll tell about the time that you made a necklace out of Mom's -"

"That's enough out of both of you," his mother says, and though she hasn't shouted the words, they seem to ring in Danny's ears. "Now, be quiet and let your father tell the story." She smiles, it's a favorite of hers as well.

She makes a show of fluffing Danny's pillow and gives him a look that begs him to be patient. Danny sighs and raises his eyes toward the ceiling. He'd thought that he'd put the days of his father telling his boyfriends and girlfriends embarrassing stories about him behind him. Apparently not. He almost groans when he thinks about the photo albums that his mother and sister will no doubt show Steve when they get the chance.

"What happened?" Steve asks.

"Well, Danny developed this contraption - he had such a vivid imagination when he was a child."

Steve snorts and gives Danny a look that indicates he thinks Danny has not outgrown his childhood gift of imagination.

Danny's father approximates the shape of the flying apparatus that Danny had created when he'd been three, spreading his hands wide.

Danny can still remember it, and, if the fan had been just a little stronger, it would have worked. He's still a little sore about the whole incident.

"He called it his 'licopter," his father says, speaking more animatedly as he gets into the story, "and I thought nothing of it. I thought he'd just carry it around the house and play around with it. I had no idea he'd actually try to make the thing fly. You should've seen him work on that thing. He was so proud of it, chest puffed out, and strutting around the house like Clint Eastwood, and he was so determined."

His father shakes his head, and Steve chuckles and nods. He shoots a look at Danny, and Danny grits his teeth, because it's a look that Steve normally reserves for soft, fluffy kittens, and the war movies he watches.

"He marched around the house with that thing held like a baby in his arms - it was nothing but a tangled mess of jump-ropes, torn sections of cardboard boxes that he'd colored with markers, and odd bits and pieces that he'd collected from around the house. I think he even had a couple of his sister's barrettes in it," his father says.

"Hey, those were my bolts, they held everything together," Danny says defensively, picking at a non-existent loose thread on his sheet.

Steve's holding laughter in, and Danny's father's face has a smile on it that Danny hasn't seen in several years. He relaxes a little and settles back for to endure the telling of the rest of the story, his heart soaring a little when Steve reaches for his hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb when his father gets to the part where three-year-old Danny used one of the jump-ropes to lasso the ceiling fan.

His father's wiping at his eyes, laughing as he gets to the really good part where Danny had swung himself up onto the cardboard 'seat' of his 'licopter, and rode round and round the living room, 'flying' through the air like an acrobat.

"Truth is, I didn't see that part, but his sister, Karen did," his father admits.

"Let me guess," Steve says, eyes crinkling. "He puked."

Danny's mother makes a face. "All over the place - the couch, the windows, the carpeting; I swear, I was cleaning it up for months afterwards. It was all over poor Karen, who ran crying from the room, claiming that her brother had 'helicoptered' her dress. If it hadn't been for that, we might not have gotten there in time..." his mother's voice softens and her smile falters and she places a hand on Danny's leg, as though reassuring herself that he's okay, that he survived that day all of those years ago.

Steve frowns down at Danny, forehead wrinkling in concern, even though he's hearing a story about something that happened decades ago, and it's obvious that Danny's survived it. He tightens his grip on Danny's hand.

His father clears his throat, looks directly at Danny while he finishes the story. "In spite of the fact that Danny weighed very little at the time, his weight was a little too much for the ceiling fan - it was old. It crashed, bringing down a good portion of the ceiling with it. Danny was trapped beneath one of the blades and a panel of the ceiling. He was so lucky that day."

"_We _were lucky that day," his father says, and he lays a hand on Danny's chest, mindful of the damage that lies beneath the hospital issued shirt.

"Yes, we were," his mother says, sniffing at the memory.

Karen shudders, her mouth twisting as though she's swallowed something that tastes bad. Danny hadn't realized how much this story had affected her, or any of them. It had been something they'd laughed about afterwards.

"I never wore that dress again," she says, voice filled with an overly dramatic sadness that breaks the heaviness that's settled over them. Danny gives her a grateful smile.

"And what's the moral of that story?" his father asks, raising his eyebrows, voice sober.

Danny rolls his eyes, but smiles crookedly and says, "Always test the tensile strength of what you expect to hold you up, _before_ attempting to fly."

It's a rote answer by now, repeated so many times over the years every time he's done something spectacularly stupid that's put his life in unnecessary danger.

He's never forgotten that particular lesson. He had to have six stitches on his scalp, a cast for his broken wrist, and had spent the night in the hospital for a concussion.

Though his parents had been angry, and had disciplined him for his dangerous behavior, there's another memory that comes to mind, something that, over the years, Danny'd never really given much thought to until now. Something that he's almost forgotten. The memory of his father holding him and rocking him in the rocking chair at the hospital when he'd been afraid and inconsolable. It makes Danny's gut twist now.

"You have always been a brave, if foolhardy, young man," his father says, "but no one is perfect, son, and you've got to ask yourself, is this, what you have with Steve, is strong enough to withstand the weight of what you are running from?" His father's voice is soft and the pressure of his palm on Danny's chest is more like a promise of strength and protection than one of judgement.

Danny doesn't even have to think about it to know the answer. Steve's thumb stills, and his fingers twitch in Danny's hand, and Danny catches them before they can withdraw from his.

They're strong, capable fingers, but Danny knows his father isn't speaking about physical strength. Steve has that, in spades, could probably carry Danny's ass through a jungle and back if he needed to.

But that's not what his father is asking. He's not asking about Steve's strength alone. Danny knows that Steve is strong. He has no doubts about Steve. Never did, not even when he left.

No, Danny had doubted the strength of what he and Steve had built _together._ Hadn't known whether or not it was strong enough to see them through the tough times, and _that's_ why he'd run away.

What he'd built with Rachel, like his failed 'licopter, had crashed and left him broken, bleeding and in need of a triage of sorts. He hadn't wanted that to happen with Steve, so he'd run before it could. He'd run before Steve could leave him like Rachel had, when the going got tough.

Danny looks at Steve and there's a naked vulnerability in the man's eyes that Danny hasn't seen before. It's humbling, and Danny knows, knows what he should have known all along, but had been too blinded by the failures of his past to see.

"Yeah, Pop," Danny's is hoarse, "it is. It's strong enough."

"Good," his father says, nodding, "no more running, son."

Danny nods. No more running. No matter how hard and bad things get. No matter what crops up. No matter what threatens him or Steve, he's not going to run again.

"No more running." Danny has to say the words aloud. Has to hear them, has to say them to Steve, because he has to make sure that Steve understands.

"I'm sorry," he adds, looking at his father's hand, so firm and strong on his chest, and then to Steve's face.

"I'm sorry I didn't go after you, Danny." Steve's voice is filled with remorse and Danny lifts his eyes to meet Steve's.

Danny shakes his head. "Steve, I -"

"Danno, I'm trying to apologize here," Steve says. "I was every bit as stubborn as you were, maybe more so. I knew you were hurting, and I...I was angry, angry that I couldn't help, that I couldn't fix what was wrong, that I couldn't turn back time and keep it from happening in the first place."

Steve closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they're bright and sharp and filled with something that could be mistaken for anger, but isn't. It makes Danny's heart swell.

"Let's put the past behind us," Steve says. "Let's build a future together. That is, if I have your blessing, Mr. and Mrs. Williams." Steve turns to look at Danny's father, and then his mother.

Danny's father claps Steve on the back and nods, his mother makes a strangled sound that's half sob, half laugh, and she hugs Steve, who is a little less stiff this time around.

"Have you set a date for the wedding?" his mother asks as soon as she pulls back from Steve. Judging by the look on her face, she's already planning the logistics of the wedding. "Will you be getting married here, or in Hawaii? Will it be a church wedding, or will you be getting married at the City Hall?"

Steve's eyes take on that wild, trapped look, and Danny laughs.

"Uh, we hadn't really gotten that far yet," Steve stutters, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.

"That's okay, sweetie, I can help you and Danny plan your wedding if you'd like" Danny's mother declares happily. "Ooh, how about getting married on the beach? It'll be beautiful..."

"Clara, let the kids plan their own wedding," his father says, a little irritably. "Danny's going to be in the hospital for a little while longer. They don't need to rush into things."

"They could have a wedding ceremony right here," Danny's mother says, ignoring his father completely and turning around to take in the room, hands moving this way and that, sizing the room up. "I'm sure that we could find a pastor or maybe even a priest willing to perform the ceremony right here."

"Ma," Karen intervenes before Danny has to.

Steve looks like he's about to pass out, he's leaning heavily against the bed rail, practically hyperventilating, and Danny gives his hand a sympathetic squeeze.

"I'm sure that Danny and Steve don't want to get married in the hospital," Karen says, somehow managing to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Of course, you're right," his mother says, and she frowns thoughtfully, already reconfiguring things. "You know," she says, biting her bottom lip, her voice growing more excited as she speaks, "you and Steve could get married in your childhood home."

"Ma!" Karen tugs on her mom's arm and forces her to turn around and look at Steve. "I think you're scaring Danny's fiance."

Danny would laugh at the look of shock and fear on Steve's face, except he's kind of a little scared himself. He wants to marry Steve, more than anything, but he doesn't want a shotgun wedding or any of the scenarios that his mother's tossing their way. He wants something quiet and simple; just Ohana.

"I'm so sorry," Danny's mother says, placing a hand on Steve's arm and shaking her head. "Of course you two want to plan your own wedding, and here I am, going on and on. It's just...I'm so excited."

His father snorts, and Danny has to bite his tongue not to laugh. He's feeling happier than he has in what feels like forever, and more in love with the man standing in front of him, enduring his family in a way that Rachel never really had, with good humor in spite of how uncomfortable, at least to Danny's trained eye, he is.

"I think we'd better let our boy get some rest, Clara," Danny's father says. "We can come back later, can't we son?"

Danny nods. He's happy, but tired, and there's a dull, but painful ache in his chest that reminds him of what he's been through. What very real and painful consequences his running away had wrought.

There's a welcome knock at the door - Danny recognizes it as that of the staff, a pattern of staccato raps that Kono had insisted upon when Danny had been in very real danger.

Before anyone can answer the door, it's opened, and the doctor who'd saved Danny's life those few weeks ago steps in. Steve gives the doctor a grateful look when he declares that it's time for Danny to get some rest, that he'll answer all of Danny's family's questions just as soon as he's taken care of his patient, and if it's okay with Danny.

When his family's cleared out, followed shortly after by the doctor, and it's just him and Steve once again, Danny allows his eyes to close.

It had been great to see his family, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed them until he'd seen them, but he's suddenly exhausted, whether it's the drugs kicking in, or the visit from his family, or from finally dealing with some of the emotions that he's been bottling up since before he'd run away, or a combination of all of that doesn't matter.

"Thank you," Danny breathes the words out, fingers finding and latching onto Steve's hand. He threads his fingers through Steve's, pulls their entwined hands up to his lips, and he kisses Steve's knuckles. He smiles when he senses Steve relaxing.

"I have a feeling that there's more to that story that you didn't even let your sister finish broaching, Danno," Steve says, sounding a little affronted, and effectively changing the direction of their conversation to something that's a lot less emotionally laden.

Danny opens a single eye to glare at him.

"Don't ask about it," Danny says with finality. "Ever."

Steve grins at him, drapes an arm over the railing and rests his head on it. "So, 'licopters, Danno? How come you never told me that you like to fly?"

Danny gives Steve the middle finger, though it's a challenge with the oxygen saturation probe that the doctor had attached to his index finger during his most recent visit. It makes it damn awkward, but Danny gives it his best effort and is rewarded with a scoff from Steve.

"Real mature, Danno," Steve chastises. "What would your mother say?"

"My mother's not here, Steven," Danny says and he closes the eye that he'd opened. "You're not going to actually tell her that I gave you the middle finger, are you? We're not in seventh grade."

"_I'm _not the one who used the middle finger," Steve retorts.

Danny snorts. "Fine, you tell her that I gave you the middle finger, I'll tell her about the grenades that you keep in the glove compartment. Where Grace can find them."

Steve makes a strangled sort of sound. "That was only the one time, Danno."

"And, about the time that -"

"Fine," Steve says before Danny can finish his sentence, "I won't say anything to your mother about your uncouth gestures, if you don't mention anything about -"

"Uncouth? Uncouth, Steven?" Danny opens an eye and rolls it. Steve sticks his tongue out at him.

"I can use big words, too, Danno," Steve says with a distinct pout that Danny can hear. "You and your family don't have a patent on them," Steve says.

"What makes you so sure that we don't?" Danny asks, yawning.

"Your sister was right, you know," Steve says after a moment.

"What about?" Danny's curious, though he's slowly losing the battle to stay awake and his mind's starting to get a little fuzzy.

"You really are a stubborn, immature jackass," Steve says, laughing when Danny makes another lewd gesture.

"Maybe so, but you love me anyway," Danny says, feeling a little punch drunk.

"Yeah, I do." Steve's voice is husky, a sign that he's feeling a little more emotional than he wants to let on. He traces the line of Danny's jaw, making Danny's skin tingle.

"That feels good," Danny murmurs, lone eye closing, lips curling upward in a satisfied smile. He pulls Steve's hand close to his mending heart, and falls asleep, dreaming of a future with Steve.


	86. Holy Batman, Steve!

**Disclaimer:** see initial chapter.

**A/N:** In honor of Batman Day, July 23rd, I bring you this bit of...smut, because for some reason this is what popped into my head when I thought of writing a fic in honor of the Batman's 75th year of entertaining us.

**Warning:** This chapter contains semi-graphic (but in keeping with this site's rules) smut, and is set sometime after Danny and Steve get married, and outside of the 'Box' story arc. The 'f' word is used in this chapter.

**A/N 2:** I hope that those who've been following the 'Reality is a Box' story arc aren't offended or upset by this brief aberration - consider it a sneak preview of the future. I do plan to wrap up the story arc and then get Danny and Steve to 'tie the knot'.

* * *

><p>Steve dressing all in black is not out of the ordinary. It's fairly commonplace. So, when Steve enters their bedroom clad all in black, Danny thinks nothing of it, until the man turns around.<p>

"What. Is. That?" Danny asks. He kneels on the bed and peers closely at his partner. "Is that...is that a cowl?"

If Danny didn't know Steve better, he'd mistake the man's silence for nervousness. But, he _does_ know Steve, so he recognizes the silence for what it is - purposeful, intense, broodiness.

Steve approaches Danny, and that's when he notices that, in addition to the pointy eared cowl that his partner is wearing, he's also got a black cape. Danny swallows, mouth suddenly dry, throat constricted, palms sweaty.

Completely frozen in place, he can only blink as Steve - aka, the Caped Crusader - crawls onto the bed and kneels in front of him. He's wearing gloves, a utility belt, and the tightest fitting clothes that Danny has ever seen on the man, and that's saying something because Steve and form-fitting are often synonymous terms in his mind.

"Uh...Steve?" Danny says, falling back on his elbows when Steve's intense gaze bores into his eyes.

Steve grasps Danny's chin tightly with fingers that are hard and sure and almost, but not quite, bruising. He whispers in a gravelly voice, "Not Steve. You've been a bad, bad boy, Danno, and I'm here to mete out justice."

Completely naked, Danny feels at a distinct disadvantage, especially when 'not-Steve' pulls a shining metal something from his utility belt and snaps it around one of Danny's wrists, and drags him backward, snaps the other end of the tool to the headboard.

_Handcuff_, Danny realizes belatedly, slightly dazed, and completely at the mercy of Steve's every whim, because Steve, dressed as Batman is fucking hot, and Danny's only ever fantasized about this. Fuck, he's only half convinced that he's not dreaming now.

He can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything other than stare at his lover in complete and utter awe and lust. He's finding it very difficult to focus on anything other than what Steve's appearance is doing to his body. How hard it is for him not come right the fuck now.

Steve removes another pair of handcuffs from his utility belt and secures Danny's other wrist to the headboard. He's all business, jaw locked, hands steadfast and sure, and Danny just wants to touch, but he can't.

Danny tests the handcuffs. There's very little give; they'll hold for as long as Steve - er not-Steve - wants them to. His heart races in his chest, jams itself into his throat, throbs in his head, and all that Danny can think about is whether or not Steve will wear the cape and the gloves and the cowl when he fucks him.

Steve's all hard planes and clean-shaven and fuck, fuck, fuck...Danny is going to kill Kono for telling Steve about this 'thing' he has for Batman. That, or buy her flowers.

_No, strike that_, Danny thinks when 'Batman' starts to stroke him and deliver a 'spank of justice' to his ass. _Flowers, chocolate and very fine wine._

When 'Batman' dips his head, only the tips of the ears visible, and wraps his lips around the head of his cock, circling it with his tongue, Danny rethinks his proposition. _Dinner. _

_At a fancy restaurant, _he adds when 'Batman' takes him deeper, the tips of his ears digging into his stomach.

_Dinner and a movie and the keys to my car, _Danny modifies when 'Batman' start to suck and stroke, the leather of his gloves creating a friction that's just shy of being painful.

_Dinner, movie, the keys to my car, and my second born child. _Danny bites down on his lip, spreads his legs a little wider, hips bucking. He whimpers when 'Batman's' cape billows, tickling Danny's thighs, adding to the already overwhelming sensations.

_And how the fuck did he manage that? _Danny wonders, but he doesn't have long to dwell on that, because 'Batman' is humming now, a deep-throated sound, and Danny's coming undone, because the vibrations are _killing him_.

'Batman's' gloved hands are gripping his hips now, the edges of his cowl are digging into Danny's flesh, making everything more intense. He grips the headboard when the handcuffs start to clang, digs his heels into the bed, and tries to hold out just a little longer, because he doesn't want this to end prematurely. He tries not to let the sight of bat-ears bobbing, the vibrations that accompany 'Batman's' humming, and the obscene slurp-sucking sounds that the 'Caped Crusader' is making be his undoing.

_Not yet._ Leather gloves slide from his hips to his inner thigh, twist and tweak his balls.

_Not yet. _Slurp, suck, mmmhmmm, "Bad boys need to be punished." - words spoken while lips are wrapped around him, and Danny didn't know that Steve could be so damn versatile, so flexible, _so...so...so...ohmyohmyohmyohmy...shit...shit...shit...gonna...gonna_

_Not yet. _Stars dancing at the edge of his vision. 'Batman' taking him even deeper, throat constricting, constricting, constricting, and_ fuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkk,_ hips jerking, vision whiting out...

_Flowers. Chocolate. Dinner. Movie. Car keys. Second-born child. And the pin to my ATM card. _Danny finishes his mental checklist as 'Batman' swallows and wipes his mouth with the back of a gloved hand, inches along his body and purposefully attacks his mouth. It's heady and dizzying, and Danny wonders what 'Batman' has in store for him next. After he's done with the foreplay.

"You enjoying this?" it's clearly 'Batman' asking this, voice gravelly and devoid of all the sensitive Steve-ness that's usually there when they're 'experimenting' in bed.

Danny can only grunt and nod, fingers clasping and unclasping around the bars of the headboard. 'Batman's' utility belt is digging into Danny's stomach, and he wonders what other tools it holds, what else his lover has in store for him.

Steve's surprisingly gentle and responsive and fuck...fuck...fuck, 'Batman' just bit him, on the neck, just below his jaw. Hard enough to mark him, and Danny is going to have to wear a turtleneck to work tomorrow, or maybe turn his collar up, or..._holyvampirebatman._

'Batman's' ears are tickling his chin while the Caped Crusader makes a path of wet, sucking kisses across Danny's breastbone, making his skin tingle and making him hard again.

Danny draws in a shuddering breath when he feels something other than Batman's utility belt and ears poking into him. The kisses cease, the gloved hands bite into Danny's hips, and Danny's met with dark, glittering eyes that are so much like the Batman that he'd envisioned in his fantasies, that his heart sinks and he makes a desperate moan, tries, in vain, to wake himself, because this...his mind is too, too cruel right now.

"You're not dreaming," Steve's voice this time, filled with a teasing concern, a touch of Batman's gravelly, no-nonsense.

_Flowers. Chocolate. Dinner. Movie. Car Keys. Second-born child. The pin to my ATM card. And the deed to my soul. _Danny vows as he relaxes and lets 'Batman' finish ravishing him.

**-BATMAN-**

Danny pretends to be busy typing up a report when Kono arrives at work on Monday. Really, he's watching for her reaction, hoping that she'll like the little gift basket he put together for her. It's not exactly like the silent promises that he'd made while he was enjoying his session with 'Batman' which had lasted until the wee hours of the morning - they'd rolled into work late the next day - but it's far more reasonable.

He bites his lip and holds his breath when Kono frowns at the basket that he's filled with everything that he knows she likes from the finest chocolate that he could find, to surfboard wax, to gift certificates for some of her favorite places. There's a promissory note at the bottom of the basket, which gives Kono rights to his second-born child (should he and Steve decide to go down that particular road) and to the part of his soul that doesn't belong to Steve - Steve has his heart and his body.

Kono's frown slowly evolves into a smile, and Danny breathes. When Kono looks over at him, he quickly ducks his head and starts typing a string of words that, when he finally stops and checks over what he's written, don't make any sense.

There's a light knock on his doorframe and Danny looks up from his computer to find Kono standing there, the promissory note in hand and a wide grin on her face. Her eyes are sparkling as she practically bounces into the room and rests a hip on the edge of his desk.

"What's all of this about?" she asks, waving the faux legal document in his face. "Not that I don't like to be showered with gifts and all, but..." she frowns and shoots a look toward Steve's office, and drops her voice.

Leaning closer to Danny and cupping her mouth with one hand, she stage whispers, "Somehow I don't think that your husband would approve of you flirting so openly. I mean, shouldn't we be keeping this a little hush-hush?"

Danny rolls his eyes and laughs when Steve, who's on the phone with the governor, looks up and gives him and Kono a quizzical look, brow furrowed. It's adorable, and Danny's momentarily sidetracked until Kono punches him in the arm to draw his attention back to her.

"Seriously, Danny, what's all of this for?" she asks, no longer teasing.

Danny shrugs and looks away from Steve, because no way can he casually mention the night he'd spent with the Caped Crusader while looking at the man who'd made one of his deepest, darkest fantasies come true. He's certain that if he does, he's going to blush, or worse.

Danny clears his throat, and keeps his eyes averted from Steve who is now openly watching the two of them, no doubt making agreeable sounds on the phone without even listening to what the governor is actually saying. He wonders if the governor will even notice, and if Steve will accidentally agree to something - like another black tie event that the two of them just _love_ to go to- without even being aware of it.

"Danny?" Kono prods, poking him.

"Uh...I just wanted to thank you for uh..." this is harder than he'd thought it would be. He can feel himself blushing, Kono's face is scrunching up in concern, and he can sense Steve's intense scrutiny, which reminds him of the other night, and fuck...

"Thank me for what?" Kono asks, looking at the unofficial promissory note and then at Danny. "I'm pretty sure that I've not done anything Rumplestiltskin-promise-worthy."

"FortellingStevethatIhaveathingforBatman," Danny says in a rush, hoping that Kono can understand him, and that she won't ask questions.

Kono's forehead crinkles and Danny can see, by the way that her eyes shift to the side, that she's working on deciphering what he's said. Suddenly, her eyes light up and her mouth drops, and she grabs Danny's arm and tugs on it. Her lips curl up into a smile that could rival that of the Cheshire Cat.

"_He didn't!_" Kono's eyes are wide as saucers, and she bites her bottom lip.

"Oh, he did," Danny says, leaning back in his seat.

"I want details," Kono says, shoving the promissory note in front of Danny's nose.

A none-too-subtle cough interrupts Kono's bid for information. Steve's standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a sullen look on his face. He looks so vulnerable, and lost that Danny doesn't have the heart to prolong his misery.

Kono mouths, 'Later,' to him, and tucks the paper under her arm. She hops off of Danny's desk and waggles her eyebrows. Danny shoots her a dirty look and she sticks her tongue out at him, before turning around and grinning at Steve. She slaps Steve on the ass on her way out, and winks at Danny, who's torn between laughing and walking over to Steve and wrapping him in a hug.

Steve shuts the door behind Kono, and turns to Danny, a hurt look on his face. "What was that about?"

Danny walks over to Steve and places his hands on either side of Steve's face, pulling it down to meet his. "You know I love you, right?"

Steve shrugs and Danny rolls his eyes.

"Oh, honestly you big goof," Danny says. "You don't really think that I've got something going on with Kono?"

Steve shrugs again, pouting, and Danny presses his lips to Steve's, kisses away the very notion that he could even so much as look at someone else like that.

"I was just thanking Kono for not listening to me when I told her not to tell you about Batman," Danny says, breathless.

Steve blinks, and then his eyes go wide, and he moves to turn around, but Danny refuses to let go of him. "Let it go, babe," he advises.

Steve sighs, but relaxes, and Danny kisses him again. Just because he can. If he pictures Steve wearing a cowl and leather gloves, no one will be the wiser.


	87. Tying up Loose Ends

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** So, I started this at the end of July, but then school started up and all of my creative energies went into lesson planning and attempting to learn students' names (so far, I've failed in that endeavor, though I am familiarizing myself with their superhero names). Long story short, I wasn't able to really write anything (other than poetry) for the past month. I am happy to say that, when I sat down at my computer yesterday, and today, I was able to work on this (for what it's worth...not sure if I've lost all readers in the interim). This is imperfect, and I'm okay with that.

Not sure why this inspired the writing of this initially, but it did: "My wife, my family, my friends - they've all taught me things about love and what that emotion really means. In a nutshell, loving someone is about giving, not receiving." - Nicholas Sparks

* * *

><p>Steve's still trying to wrap his head around all that has happened in the past twenty-four hours. From meeting Danny's family, to saving the mayor from a would-be assassin, to killing Capo, it's almost literally been a whirlwind.<p>

Danny's sleeping. Steve can't help thinking that it's better that way. Better for him not to know how close Capo had gotten to him - again. How close the man had come to winning.

The doctor had managed to escape police custody while being transported to the courthouse, and had gone straight to the hospital, only to be stopped by Steve.

Steve's hand had been forced when Capo took one of the doctors hostage, holding a scalpel to the man's throat. Steve hadn't thought twice. His aim had been true. Capo's mouth had opened in a surprised 'O' that would forever be frozen in place.

Eyes wide.

Neat round hole in the middle of his forehead, large exit wound at the base of his skull which had coated the hallway with brain matter, hair and bone, not to mention, copious amounts of blood.

Steve feels no regret, knows that he will have no nightmares reliving that moment, and the moments that quickly followed. No, his nightmares will include images of what might've happened. What could've happened if he hadn't been there. If Capo had managed to make it to Danny.

Steve can still smell the blood, though he's showered, changed his clothes, tossed the bloodied ones away. It's cloying and thick and so damn red, and it shouldn't bother him, because the man's dead and he can't reach Danny now. Can never threaten any of them again.

Steve rubs Danny's knuckles with his thumb and tries not to picture the worst case scenario, because he's killed Capo, and it's not going to come to fruition.

Capo is not going to take Danny from him.

He's not going to fuck with Danny's head.

Not going to lock Danny away as he'd boldly threatened to do when he'd been cornered by Steve in the corridor outside of Danny's room. Capo's not going to do anything to anyone ever again.

He's dead, Steve killed him, and in spite of everything, it had been oddly difficult for him to wash the blood off of his hands.

Chin and Kono were working with the FBI, unveiling even more of the madman's plan, and keeping the mayor safe, in spite of his culpability.

About the only good thing to come of all of this is the knowledge that Capo's influence had stopped there. He'd had yet to spread his manipulation further than the mayor, though he'd planned to go much, much further than that, according to notes the FBI had uncovered - with Chin's help - in his personal computer.

For all intents and purposes, it's over, or almost over. There are only a few loose ends to tie up - the man Steve had put in the hospital, Zanetti, and his goon. Neither of them are talking about what happened in the alley, Steve's promises of a more permanent solution to keep them silent had worked remarkably well.

The only thing left for them to 'tie up' on the mainland that Steve cares about is Danny. Steve closes his eyes for a moment, lets his hand rest briefly on the top of Danny's, before ghosting his fingers across the man's unshaven cheek.

Danny's cheeks are hollow, his eyes sunken, his skin sallow. There's not much Steve can do for him now, other than wait, be there for him. Things he'd been willing to do before all of this shit had come into play. Before Danny had quit on him and left.

Steve sighs, resumes what he's come to think of as his seat beside Danny's hospital bed, and grips Danny's hand. He presses his fingers to the underside of Danny's wrist. The steady throb that beats against the tips of his fingers soothes him, reminds him that, after everything Danny's been through, his heart is still beating.

And because Danny's heart is still beating, his own can stop aching so fiercely. Before all of this, Steve had not realized how much missing someone could be like a physical pain. How much like a gaping chest wound it could be, as though his own heart had been ripped out of his chest.

He knows now. Knows that he can't go through anything like this ever again, and still hold onto his sanity. Chin and Kono would probably argue that he hadn't really held onto anything that even slightly resembled sanity while Danny had been gone.

"No sense in dwelling on the past," Steve mutters, rubbing his thumb across the back of Danny's wrist. "Not going to find anything new there."

He leans forward, rests his forehead against the edge of Danny's bed. He's so weary, he could probably fall asleep right there in spite of what hell it would put his neck and back through. Now that he's dealt with the danger, Steve doesn't want to leave Danny's side, wants to bury his face into Danny's neck and simply breathe.

He hasn't taken a real breath since Danny'd left him. His lungs had filled with air, labored to keep him alive, but they'd been working solely on instinct. It had been nothing more than survival. He no longer wants to merely survive. He wants to live.

The change in Danny's pulse, the altered thump against the tips of his fingers, is what alerts Steve that he's awake well before the slight movement - Danny's hand twisting within the hold that he's got on it - does.

He smiles, though there's little to smile about when he thinks about the past few hours. What he's done, what he's got to do.

But Danny's waking, and all of that can wait for now. For now, everything short of this - the feel of Danny's pulse quickening, the sound of the sheets rustling as Danny comes to awareness, the warmth that settles in Steve's gut at being here when Danny wakes - doesn't exist.

"Steve?" Danny's voice is thin, scratchy, and Steve, without releasing his hold on Danny's hand, plies a straw to Danny's lips, silently encourages him to drink.

Seeing the way that Danny's brow smoothes out, the relief that such a simple act has brought him, eases some of the knots in Steve's stomach that have been a near constant presence since Danny'd left. Helps him breathe a little easier, and he offers Danny a smile. Knows that, in other circumstances, Danny wouldn't be fooled by this display of false cheer.

"I'm here, Danny," Steve says, though it's unnecessary.

Danny's brow furrows, and he licks his lips. Steve urges him to drink more water, though he knows that Danny's not frowning because he's thirsty.

"What's wrong?" Danny's voice is quiet, and all the more demanding for it.

Steve shakes his head. He doesn't want to do this now. Maybe not ever. He wants to put the past several months behind them, starting with the events that had taken place a few short hours ago, outside of this very hospital room.

He's tired, and, though his heart no longer aches like it had for so long, he just wants everything to go back to normal. Doesn't want to acknowledge that there's been a shift in their relationship, that he killed a man for Danny, and would've happily killed several more for what had transpired while Danny'd cut himself out of Steve's life.

"Steve," Danny's voice, though soft, is commanding. "Babe, what happened? Did my mom scare you off?" There's a note of teasing to Danny's voice, but it's soured by a distinct undercurrent of concern.

Steve's heart falters for a second. The knots that still remain in his stomach tighten. He shakes his head, maintains the smile that makes his face feel frozen.

Danny frowns, struggles to sit up, and Steve gently pushes him back with a quiet curse. He presses the button that will adjust the bed, allow Danny to sit up a little without pulling on his injuries.

"I'm fine," Steve says, the words coming out a little more harshly than he'd intended for them to.

Danny raises an eyebrow, looks pointedly at their entwined hands. The fact that he's not quite up to giving Steve a verbal lashing isn't lost on Steve. Where Danny's words fail him, though, his facial expressions make up for tenfold. That, and his gestures, which are currently subdued in deference to his injuries.

"Capo's dead," Steve confesses, lowering his eyes to the hand that he holds. The steady thrum of Danny's heartbeat grounds him, makes it easier for him to talk.

"Good," Danny chuffs the word out, and when Steve raises his eyes to look at his partner - the man that he's loved for what feels like ages now - he sees that Danny's mouth is twisted in a grim facsimile of a smile. Danny nods, and repeats, "Good."

"The mayor's safe. He's willingly committing himself to a psychiatric hospital, to be evaluated, get real help for the depression Capo had been treating him for. He hadn't realized that Capo no longer needed him to get what he wanted," Steve adds. It's all really farfetched as far as he's concerned, but the man had gone willingly, at least according to Chin's report.

Danny nods and takes as deep a breath as he can, his mouth twisting at the slight twinge of pain that this elicits. Steve aches to take away Danny's pain, and wonders if this is what it is like to love someone beyond the typical, everyday commitments that people make. If this is what he's got to look forward to for the remainder of his life - aching every time that Danny hurts, wishing his lover's pain on himself.

"Steve." Danny's voice is tight, concerned, holding much more than it should when speaking a single word. His fingers tighten on Steve's wrist, and Steve wonders if Danny's gauging the veracity of his words through the nuances of Steve's pulse. It's something that Steve was taught to do when he'd been trained as a SEAL, using pulse to determine truth.

"Capo escaped custody," Steve admits, not looking at Danny's face. "Headed here to finish what he'd started with you." Steve looks up then. Danny's jaw is clenched, his eyes hard.

"You stopped him," Danny says, fingers digging into Steve's wrist.

Steve nods. "Yeah, he took a doctor hostage."

Guilt crosses Danny's features, and Steve feels like kicking himself. The guilt isn't Danny's to entertain, it's his. He'd nearly lost Danny this afternoon, had only done what he should've done in the first place - drilled a bullet in Capo's skull.

"The doctor's fine," Steve is quick to assure Danny, knowing that, though the guilt is misplaced, it isn't something that Danny will easily rid himself of. "Capo didn't hurt him."

Danny closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, Steve can see relief and gratefulness reflected in the tear-limned eyes. He gives Steve a crooked smile and squeezes Steve's wrist.

"I killed him," Steve says, his voice suddenly rough, throat clogged.

Danny's pulse is steady beneath his fingertips, but he can feel his own skyrocketing. It's ridiculous. Danny's safe now.

The world's better off without Capo in it.

There's no reason for him to feel anything but a deep sense of self-satisfaction and pride, because he'd managed to kill Capo with a single shot, right through the middle of the man's skull. It had been a thing of beauty. Something that, if he was still running in certain circles, would be talked about for years to come.

"I'm sorry, babe," Danny says, drawing Steve out of himself, reminding him that he'd done the right thing.

Steve runs a hand through his hair. "He was crazy, thought he could take you out of the hospital, make you into some kind of..."

"Monster?" Danny supplies when Steve trails off, unable to find suitable words for what Capo had been planning to do, what the man had nearly succeeded in doing. Danny laughs. It's a dry, wheezing kind of sound that makes Steve wince in sympathy, because it sounds painful.

"Capo was no Frankenstein," Danny says, a little breathless. "Man was a fucking lunatic. You did the right thing," Danny says, voice filled with conviction. "You did the only thing you could've. Capo was crazy."

Steve's answering smile is real this time. "From what I remember, Frankenstein wasn't operating with a full deck of cards either."

Danny lets the hand that's not currently ensconced in Steve's rise and then flop to rest on his stomach. He shrugs, takes as deep a breath as he can, and lets it out on a sigh.

"I think it's safe to say that both doctors had a god-complex," Danny says.

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "I've gotta say, I'm glad that Capo didn't succeed in his plan. Green's not your color."

Danny absentmindedly traces the stitches on his chest through the fabric of the hospital gown that he's wearing - no tee-shirts for him yet - and Steve bites the inside of his cheek, his stomach twisting itself a new knot. The knot loosens before it can fully form when Danny chuckles and points a finger at Steve.

"I'll have you know that I look damn good in green," he says, voice a little stronger than it was earlier.

"Whatever you say, Danny," Steve says, relaxing a little, allowing his lips to twist upward in a smile.

"I'm downright smashing in green," Danny says, pouting a little, sinking further into his pillows. Steve has a disturbingly domestic urge to fluff Danny's pillows and quickly tamps down on it.

"That so?" Steve asks, rising to the bait, grateful for the change in the course of their discussion.

Danny nods, chin jutting mulishly. Steve pictures Danny in green - dressed as an elf, because it's the first thing that pops into his head. He laughs, and bites his lip, because Danny the elf is glaring at him in a very non-elf sort of fashion, and he's making a gesture that Steve knows would be strictly forbidden at the North Pole.

He shakes his mind to clear it of the image that his mind's conjured up. The real Danny is glaring at him, though his lips are twitching.

"I'm dashing and dapper and look very handsome in green," Danny continues, chin held high, eyes twinkling. "As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to wear green at our wedding."

Steve leans back, shakes his head. "I've got nothing against green, Danno, but don't you think we should wear something a little more traditional?"

Danny purses his lips, gives Steve a thoughtful look. "I'd look good in white," he says after a pause, and Steve catches the truth, and the desire, in the way that Danny's pulse stutters and jumps beneath his fingertips.

"And we both know how gorgeous I am in a black suit," Steve says. He can see Danny dressed in a white suit with tails at the back.

Danny shakes his head. "Navy blues," he says, voice husky. "I like a man in uniform."

Danny's pulse jumps considerably and is in complete harmony with Steve's own rapidly increasing heartbeat. He's hard, and fuck, fuck, fuck. Now's not the time for this kind of thing. Danny's not in any position to do anything, hell, he's not ready for anything right now either, though his body is trying to tell him otherwise.

He breathes in and out through his nose, trying to focus on something other than the way that Danny's pulse feels like a river running beneath his fingertips. Warmth spreads through him, thawing the coolness that had settled in his gut when Danny'd left him. It's been so long since he's felt this way. So long since he's felt like himself. So long since he's been whole.

"Fuck," he hisses, biting his lip and letting out a shuddering breath.

Danny's breath hitches in his chest, and they both catch each other's eyes and laugh, and though it's strained, it's a welcome sound. A sound that helps ease some of the tension building in both of them.

"Get over here and kiss me." Danny's words come out so softly that, for a full second and a half, Steve isn't sure that he hasn't made them up. But, Danny's lips, a healthy pink, are parted, and he's giving Steve a look that mirrors his own need, a look that begs Steve to kiss him.

"You, ah, you sure about this, Danny?" Steve asks, faltering for a split second.

Danny rolls his eyes and pats the bed beside him, scoots over a little, and winces when his body reacts to the careful movements. No, Danny's not ready for more than a kiss, or two. Nothing too strenuous.

Steve releases his hold on Danny's hand, frowning slightly. Though he'll soon be closer to Danny than he's been for too many months to count, Steve misses the feel of Danny's pulse, the telltale beat of his heart, throbbing beneath the tips of his fingers.

There are logistics to consider as he eyes the bed, and the various pieces of equipment attached to his lover, but Steve quickly comes up with a game plan that will not only ensure that Danny's comfortable and safe, but that he isn't in danger of falling on his ass in the process. He wonders, briefly, what the doctors and nurses will say, if they'll try to make him leave, but decides that he doesn't really care, because now that Capo's dead and Kono and Chin are working with the FBI to wrap things up, Steve just wants to be near Danny. To reassure himself that Danny's safe, and that he isn't going anywhere.

"Not _everything _has to be approached as though it's a dangerous mission," Danny chides, lips pursed. "I'm not going to break, Steve."

"It's not _your_ ass I'm worried's gonna fall out of the bed," Steve says as he lowers the metal railing and hoists himself up beside Danny. He positions himself so that he's between Danny and the rest of the room, and he carefully pulls Danny flush against him. The rest of the tight knots in his stomach finally begin to work themselves loose as he buries his face in Danny's neck and kisses the man's collarbone.

Danny murmurs words of comfort that Steve doesn't fully register, because he's too busy rediscovering the man he'd lost, figuring out what, and who, Danny is to him now.

Lover.

Friend.

Life.

Something more than all of that.

Steve's lost, mapping what he can of Danny with his lips and fingers, tonguing deep grooves, skirting the fine edge of danger, because he has to taste, has to reclaim what had been taken from him. Kissing and touching his lover in ways he'd never done before, Steve pleads, wordlessly, for forgiveness and for a future, offers forgiveness of his own, and promises Danny everything.

"It's okay, Steve," Danny reassures him, and Steve's too lost in the contours, and nuances of his lover's body to understand why Danny's comforting him, that there are tears falling.

"I love you, Danno," Steve whispers, kissing Danny's lips, tasting the salt of their combined tears and relishing the warmth that had been missing from those lips for so long. "And, I'd kill a whole army of Capos to keep you safe."

"I know," Danny murmurs, lips moving beneath Steve's. "Thank you."

For now, there's nothing more to say. Further conversation, and confessions will have to wait. Steve reluctantly relinquishes Danny's lips, sensing the almost overwhelming exhaustion before it overtakes the other man. He settles beside Danny, careful of his chest, of the IV's and the leads and everything else that would contrive to make this difficult.

He reaches for Danny's hand, places the tips of his fingers on the pulse-point and closes his eyes. Letting the steady rhythm of Danny's heartbeat lull him into the first peaceful sleep he's had since before the box, the last of the knots in his stomach ease away into nothing.

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><p>Reviews would be greatly appreciated, if I've not totally lost you.<p> 


	88. Promise in Coming Home

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** I know it's been a long time; work had taken up most of my creative thinking, and then I'd been unsure about whether or not I should add another 'chapter' to this particular story line. I've decided to do so, and that this will wrap it up. Thanks to those who've read, and supported through feedback. I am grateful. This is rather 'poetic' and is more about Danny beginning to come to terms with his past and embrace the future.

Written (mostly) to Nesian Nine's, "You Complete Me" (I think this would make a great song for weddings).

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><p>Danny takes as deep a breath as he dares, relishing the way that his lungs fill all the way, that there's no painful tug to accompany the action. He closes his eyes and smiles as the warmth of the air surrounds him, like a blanket.<p>

It's good to be back. Good to be home. Good to see Steve smiling again, unreserved, the light of it reaching his eyes.

It's been awhile, for all of them.

There was a time, when Danny'd been so lost that he thought he'd never have any of this again, that he'd fucked up, gone too far, and that that was it, he was never going to get his second chance with Steve.

Second chances were for those who deserved them. Not for those who gave up at the first sign of trouble, like Danny had.

But, Steve had given him a second chance. So had Chin and Kono, and his daughter, Grace. Even Rachel had given him another chance, and he'd been certain that he'd run out of chances with her, having gone through his second and third before they'd even divorced. He'd feared that she was going to keep Grace, his monkey, from him because he'd left, hadn't called, had all but broken his little girl's heart in a failed attempt to protect her from what he'd become. Someone who didn't deserve such a beautiful child.

He's grateful that his family didn't see things the way that he did, that they, even if he hadn't quite gotten there himself, had forgiven him for what he'd done. They'd understood what he refused to accept yet - that he'd been messed up and hurting, that he'd been taken advantage of (and that was almost the hardest thing to work through - what Dr. Capo had done to him, and the others who'd fallen under his spell) - it would take time, and Steve coming back for him had given him that time. It's a gift, and he's not going to give it up, not going to take it for granted.

Danny sighs, leans against the post on the lanai and watches Steve and Grace playing at the water's edge. They're silhouetted by orange light being cast by the setting sun, and Danny wishes he had his camera, but he knows that by the time he digs it out and returns, the moment will be gone, so he imprints the image on his heart and in his mind. Their laughter carries back to him, and his heart fills with something indefinable. It's something more than love, something that he's never experienced before he met Steve.

He's blessed, and he knows it. Blessed that he's still got Steve and Grace in his life. Blessed that, though he'd screwed things up, royally, he's still living and breathing. He still has Steve, still has this.

He's got a long ways to go yet, before he's fully recovered and ready to go back to work, ready to put the past several months behind him, ready to put his experience in the box where it belongs - firmly in the past. He knows that he won't forget it, and that's okay; it'll keep him humble, grounded, remind him that he's human, easily broken. Remind him of what it is that makes him whole - Steve and Grace, the family that they've forged together.

"Danno? You coming or what?" Steve calls, and Grace echoes him, her voice robust and challenging. She giggles when Steve picks her up and puts her on his shoulders. She's right on the cusp of being too old for such things, and Danny wants to hold that off for as long as he can. Wants to keep his baby girl innocent and carefree, and young.

Danny pushes off the post and makes his way over to the two people who mean the world to him, marveling that he's alive, and that he's here, with them, now. The sand feels good on his feet, beginning to cool as the evening shadows lengthen. He realizes that he even missed this - the beach, sand, palm trees set in a background of immutable blue, the sound of the ocean roaring in his ears, like the incessant buzz of bees.

It's been a long time since he's been happy, so long that Danny almost doesn't recognize it for what it is. It comes back to him, though, in slow increments, solidifying when he finally reaches Steve and Grace at the edge of the shore, the ocean licking at his feet, Steve wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close for a kiss; Grace's giggles wash over him, her toes dig into his shoulder, and he's never felt so happy, so alive, so loved.

This is what he missed most, he decides, and he relaxes, joins in the laughter, lets some of the pain, and stress of the past few days - leaving the hospital, saying goodbye to his family, returning home - melt away as the promise of a future he'd feared he'd never have forms a picture in his mind. It doesn't disappear when the sun merges with the ocean, belting out a final golden ray that paints the ocean with an ethereal beauty. If anything, the dream - the promise of a future with Steve- is echoed by that final glimpse of the sun, the shared laughter, the gentle rumble of the ocean as it laps at his feet.

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><p>As always, feedback is appreciated, and valued, and it does inspire me.<p> 


	89. The Other Side of Anger

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by the song, "The Other Side," by Jason Derulo. I have no idea why this turned out so angsty. I wanted to write fluff, but Miss Angst apparently decided to take over the writing today. She's sneaky. Like a ninja with deadly nun-chucks. And I've let my imagination run away with me again.

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><p>Getting drunk seems like a real good idea, even though he knows that it's not. Knows that getting drunk won't fix a damn thing.<p>

Won't fix him.

Won't fix Steve.

Won't bring back the dead, or even unearth them.

No, drinking won't fix anything, but it'll make him numb, help him forget for a little while.

It won't make him unsee what he'd seen.

Won't make him quicker.

Won't make the bad guy any slower.

Won't turn back time, though he wishes that it would.

_One beer would take him back an hour, a six pack a half a day, twelve, well, that would give him an entire day back. _

He laughs at the thought.

It's a bitter, broken sound, and Danny refuses to meet Steve's eyes, knowing what the other man is thinking, that this has something to do with that dark time in his life.

It has _nothing _to do with any of that.

He's moved on from that.

_They've_ moved on from that.

No, this wish to turn back time through drinking has everything to do with the case they've just put to bed.

"C'mon, Danny, let's go home." Steve's voice is soft, tender, and Danny wants to haul off and punch him, because he's angry, and there's nowhere, no one else, for him to pour all of his anger into.

No one.

That bastard, the one who'd taken and carved up that little girl – she was only a year older than Grace – was dead.

Deader than a fucking doornail.

Deader than his Great Uncle Louie, who'd been dead for decades now. And where the fuck was this train of thought even going?

"Danny?" Steve's wearing this face that means that he's worried, he cares, he understands, and Danny just doesn't want any of that right now.

Maybe later, after his blood's done boiling, and he's got his own inner Mount Vesuvius under control, and he's had a drink or half a dozen. Just to give him some perspective, to take his mind off of the broken body of that beautiful little girl.

He wants to resurrect the dead so that he can kill the dead. Over and over again. And when his anger's spent, he wants to drink to bring that little girl back to life, return her to her parents, take her mother's pain away, remove the guilt from her father's heart.

He's been there.

He knows what it's like.

That guilt that eats you up inside, because you know that you've not done enough, that you've failed your child.

Your daughter.

Your precious little girl who looks up to you.

Your monkey.

"Danny, it's – "

The blood rushes in his ears, and his heart's pounding so hard that he's afraid he's going to have a heart attack. And wouldn't that be perfect right now?

He stops listening.

Doesn't hear whatever it is that Steve's saying, because he can't.

His heart hurts, and his mind is replaying the case, start to finish, all of the mistakes that he made, the things which led to him and Steve finding the little girl.

Dead.

Body broken.

Eyes open and unseeing – milky blue, flies crawling around the dried out orbs. Maggots dining on her spilled insides. Thin body surrounded by blood, tacky and smelling like so many copper pennies, baking in the sun.

Death smells sweet, but it isn't. There's nothing sweet about any of this.

"...there was nothing we could do. We did everything we could, Danny," Steve's still talking when Danny tunes back in, and he can't take it anymore, because he's not going to accept any of that as answer.

Someone has to pay.

Someone has to answer for this, and that someone is currently lying on a slab in the morgue, the back of his head missing, his forehead sporting an ugly black hole that Danny had imagined smoked when the bullet went in.

"No," Danny whispers, and he shakes his head because Steve's eyes are filled with something that isn't, but is close enough to pity.

Before he even realizes he's doing it, he's got his hand balled into a fist and is swinging, aiming for Steve's chin, like he'd done when they'd first met.

He wants to bring the man down, though he knows he's being irrational, that it's not Steve's fault that all of this went down the way that it did. That Steve's not responsible for the little girl's death.

The man responsible for it all is never going to pay for his crime the way that he should – with pain and torment, and begging that falls on deaf ears.

That's what makes Danny take a swing at Steve, and he's putting everything behind this punch. All of his pent up anger, the blind, mind-numbing fear, because that little girl was just a year older than Grace.

Just a year.

Not much else had separated the two.

Both went to private schools, though little Gloria's family had to scrimp and save and apply for scholarships to send her to a school of their choosing.

And there's the anger and shame that he feels toward himself, packed into the punch. Remnants of the past that isn't as buried as it needs to be.

Steve catches him by the wrist though, stops his fist before it can connect with his face, and pulls Danny forward, using Danny's own momentum against him. It isn't fair that Steve's taller, and, in this moment, a little stronger.

It isn't fair and Danny mumbles that against a chest that's hard as a rock, and yet yielding as a teddy bear.

The sound of Steve's heart, steady, strong, pounds in Danny's ear, drowns out the frenetic beating of his own heart, reminds him that he's not alone. That Steve's there. Will never leave him, even though he's left Steve.

"I'm sorry," Steve says, and his voice breaks. His arms swallow Danny; turn the intended violence into an act of love. He holds Danny close as though their lives depend on it and just hugs him.

Danny's trembling, and he doesn't want this, wants to hit someone, something, anything. Wants to walk into the morgue and beat a dead man, though it isn't rational. What had happened wasn't rational.

"Not your fault, Danny," Steve murmurs. "Not yours or mine. Not Kono's or Chin's."

"He deserved to suffer," Danny says, lips moving against Steve's ridiculously tight tee-shirt.

"I know," Steve says, fingers kneading the tight muscles in Danny's back.

Knots that have taken up residence in his shoulders and neck finally give way beneath the authority of Steve's fingers, and Danny lets them. Takes a deep breath, lets it out, and digs his own fingers into the back of Steve's shirt, holds onto the man he loves, because he loves him, and Steve is a fucking rock, and Danny needs him more than he can articulate. And isn't that a kick in the pants? But, then, Steve does drive him to distraction, and, at times, leaves him speechless.

"We okay now?" Steve asks, and though Danny's blood's still boiling, just a little, and he's not going to be fine with any of this for awhile, Danny nods.

He no longer wants to kill a dead man, no longer wants to take a swing at Steve. He does; however, want to call Grace. Assure himself that his little Monkey's alive and well, though he knows that, again, he's being irrational.

Before he can even voice his need, his phone's being pressed into his hand, and Steve steps back enough to allow Danny to make the call that he needs to, though not far enough away so that Danny's out of his reach. He keeps a hand on Danny's back, and Danny keeps one hand fisted in Steve's shirt.

"Danno?" his little girl's voice is a balm to his heart, and Danny smiles for the first time in weeks. Seeing it, Steve smiles too.

He's nowhere near okay yet, but he's well on his way.

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><p>Like? Hate? I hope you don't hate. Thank you so much for reviews. I was encouraged by an anonymous review today, so, thank you.<p> 


	90. ThrowbackThursday

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** The initial prompt for this is from my cotton candy bingo card - pillow/blanket fort, and then Throwback Thursday (it's still Thursday here in Hawaii for nearly an hour yet) inched its way into this. Why? I don't know; I've never posted a 'throwback Thursday' post anywhere, until now.

**A/N 2:** For those who don't know, #throwbackthursday, is a social media term that refers to a look back on your life when you were younger - like a walk down memory lane, and I believe that Thursdays were chosen for this because of the alliteration involved (I could be wrong, but I love alliteration, so I'm going to stick with that). Throwback Thursdays are popular on Instagram and Facebook, and possibly other social media sites that I do not frequent. I have never posted a Throwback Thursday anything until yesterday. I'm using the term extremely loosely, because I wanted to play around with the concept.

**Warning:** Fluffy and cheesy, and possibly, but hopefully not horribly so, ooc. (SIGH) Also, I've taken liberties with proper grammar usage (repetition, fragments, comma splices, etc.). Also, because some reviewers (and apparently the muse) thought that Steve should have more to say to Danny about leaving him, this happened...no idea if this satisfies or not.

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><p>It's unnaturally quiet when Steve enters his home, and immediately his mind goes to <em>that<em> place, _the box,_ and Danny disappearing. His heart jumps to his throat, and he closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and concentrates on breathing.

Danny's back in Hawaii now. He's home, for good; he promised that he wouldn't be leaving again.

Still, there's a tiny seed of doubt, a little voice at the back of his mind that reminds Steve of everyone who's left him over the years. Promises that had been broken. Lies that had left him lonely and his heart aching in ways that he'd rather not admit.

It had started with his mother, and Steve wishes that the steel box he'd tried to erect around his heart then had stayed firmly in place.

It hadn't.

Maybe it had never really been in place to begin with.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and tries not to let his imagination run away with him. Tries not to picture Danny as he'd been in that hospital bed on the mainland - so pale and broken - having died and been brought back to life by modern medicine, and a doctor who hadn't known the meaning of the word quit.

Tries not to see the faded words of Danny's, _Dear John _letter to him. Tries not to recall how much Danny's words had hurt him, how broken he'd been when Danny had left.

He's tired, and his left shoulder aches from an old injury he received on a mission that's so classified that he's not even allowed to think about it. He was looking forward to returning home to Danno and Grace, forgetting about the mission he can't think about, and the case that had run the whole team ragged for the past week.

Danny had left work earlier that afternoon to pick up Grace. She was theirs for the next two weeks, and Steve had been looking forward to it. It had been a long time since he'd had Grace in his home.

Steve wants things to go back to normal, back to the way they were before Danny was taken, before Steve started doubting his partner, and what his own eyes were telling him - Danny's car was in the driveway, therefore he hadn't left him, no matter that he didn't hear Danny and Grace in the house.

He knows that he can't turn back time, though. He doesn't know that it would be the right thing to do if he _was_ given the opportunity to unravel time and go back, stop events from unfolding as they had.

The scent of fresh chocolate chip cookies jars Steve from his thoughts, and he frowns, his heart skipping to a hopeful beat. The silence is no longer as oppressive as it had been when he'd first entered the house. Fresh chocolate chip cookies mean Grace, which means that Danny hasn't up and left him out of the blue, taking a taxi instead of his car.

Steve doubts that he'll stop worrying about that anytime soon.

Opening his eyes, he heads toward the kitchen and quells his desire to grumble about the fact that the counters are covered with flour and something tacky that he'd really rather pretend he hadn't seen. No doubt it's some kind of eggy mixture.

There's a bowl sitting precariously on the edge of the sink, some of the dough is caked to the lip of it. The inside of the bowl is mostly clean, but there's still a film of dough drying in the bowl.

_It'll need to soak,_ Steve thinks, but he resists the urge to tidy the kitchen as his heart swells at the mental picture he gets of Danny and Grace baking cookies together. He can't stop what he knows would be classified by Danny as a goofy grin.

"Danny? Grace?" he calls, poking his head out of the kitchen and into the living room, no longer afraid to move forward for the silence in the house.

The living room is a mess. Blankets and pillows are strewn all over the place, creating what looks like a very lopsided cave, or maybe a fort. It doesn't appear to have any architectural soundness to it.

Steve remembers making blanket forts with his little sister, back when his mother had been around. He smiles at the memory as he carefully makes his way through what appears to be the entire contents of the linen closet hanging from every surface, anchored in place with a pillow, or a leg of furniture.

It's like wading through a minefield, and Steve fears that one wrong misstep will cause the entire fortress - because that's what it is, a whole fortress of blankets and pillows in his living room - to topple, and he doesn't want to answer to Grace, or for that matter, Danny, for that. No, he likes his head right where it is, thank you very much.

There was a time when a scene like this would have set his teeth on edge, and Steve can't pretend that the sight in the kitchen and living room isn't making him just a little anxious - he likes things orderly, and all of this is screaming, _MESS, clean me up!_ at him. But he's missed this, didn't realized he missed Danny's messes from the small ones to the gigantic, living room sized ones.

He takes a deep breath, makes it through the craziness that is now his living room, and wonders at the quiet.

A quick look outside, and Steve's convinced that Danny and Grace were riding on the back of a whirlwind when they got home that day. There's a pile of sand on his lanai, an abandoned shovel and pail, a collection of seashells and sea glass. But there's no sign of either love of his life, and his gut clenches at the realization that he loves Grace like he thinks maybe a father, or a stepfather, would. It's a very sobering thought, and he wonders if he'll go from _Uncle Steve_ to _Step-Steve. _

"Danny! Grace!" Steve hears his own voice echoed back at him, the crash of the ocean against the shore.

Frowning, Steve takes a deep breath, shoves his earlier, anxious thoughts away, because the mess speaks to Danny's presence, not his absence. Thoughtful, he walks back into the living room. He holds his breath, closes his eyes, and forces himself to focus for a minute on his breathing.

_Danny and Grace are probably walking along the shore, and they'll be back any minute,_ he thinks. It's a rational explanation. Reasonable even.

Just as he's about to open his eyes, he hears it, a quiet gasp of sound, and he holds his breath for fear that his mind is playing tricks on him. He opens his eyes, narrowing them at the large expanse of roofing comprised of mismatched sheets, seeking out shapes that might be hidden beneath them when he hears another garbled sound coming from within the fortress.

Chuckling quietly to himself, because he's finally classified the odd sounds as Danny's snoring, Steve searches for an opening in the fortress, because there has to be one. The two occupants of the fortress had to get in there somehow.

He's stifling a yawn of his own by the time he finds the hidden opening, and he has to laugh, because he can almost hear the conversation that he knows Danny and Grace had when they'd constructed the monster fortress that's eaten his living room. He wishes he could've been there, ignores the pang in his heart that the thought evokes. He'll be there next time.

Getting onto his hands and knees (ignoring the popping and cracking of his joints) Steve crawls toward the opening, and ducks his head beneath the flap. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the blanket fort, and he casts about for the familiar form of his partner, spying Grace a split second before he sees her father.

Steve works his cellphone free of its clip on his belt, thankful that he hadn't discarded it at its usual place by the door. His routine's been more than just a little disturbed since he and Danny have returned from the mainland, and though it's thrown him off-balance, Steve knows that it's a good thing. He'd missed the change in his routine when Danny'd been gone.

He makes sure that the flash is off, hoping that his phone will still be able to capture the image of Grace, half-sprawled over her father, face cushioned by Danny's chest. Danny's arm is draped over Grace's shoulders; mouth open, he's quietly snoring.

Steve creeps closer until he's close enough to get a picture of the two. He snaps off several photos, goofy grin fixed firmly in place, and then puts his phone away.

When he looks up, he finds two blue eyes narrowed at him.

"Sorry, Danno, didn't mean to wake you," Steve whispers. "I couldn't find you and Grace, and I panicked."

"No, sorry." Danny scrubs a hand over his face, and he waves his free hand in the air between them, wriggles his fingers. "Don't worry, Grace and I will clean up the mess, we -"

"Don't worry about it," Steve brushes off his apology with a shrug. "It's kind of nice."

"Kind of nice?" Danny raises an eyebrow and purses his lips and looks at Steve as though he's assessing him for a concussion.

"Yeah." Steve looks away, not certain of how to say what's on his heart. "Reminded me of what it was like when Mom and Mary were around, and we were a family. Made me think of all that we've been through, and, Danny...I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose you and Grace. I don't want to lose us." The words come out in a rush before Steve can stop them, and he looks at Danny, can feel tears gathering in his eyes, and it makes him feel foolish. He hadn't meant to give voice to any of that, and, normally, he doesn't cry.

Danny's looking at him with tears in his own eyes, but he's like that. Able to express himself better, and braver than Steve can, because Danny's never been afraid to cry.

"Steve, I'm sorry," Danny says, voice gruff. "I don't know what I have to say or do to convince you that I'm here to stay, for good. I screwed up, I know that, and I can't undo what I've done. I love you, and I want to marry you, and don't I sound like an overly emotional teenage girl?"

Steve grins, and wipes away a tear that's slipped free. "Danno,I love you. I love Grace. But I can't go through that again. I can't stand the silence, or the emptiness of this place. I like coming home to the TV blaring, dishes in the sink, you and Grace tracking sand into the house." He's babbling, and he doesn't babble, but he needs to make Danny understand, even if he's not sure _he _understands what it is that he's trying to say.

"C'mere," Danny says, gesturing with his free arm.

Somehow, thankfully, Grace has slept through all of this.

Steve crawls over to Danny, lets his partner, his lover, pull him down beside him, and whisper reassurances in his ear. "I love you Steve, and I'm sorry for what I did to you and Grace. I -"

"You're in a cave, Danno," Steve interrupts, voice incredulous, heart pounding as realization of the breakthrough hits him, and he can't help stating the obvious, because Danny still wakes from nightmares of being trapped inside that box from time to time.

Danny flushes, and his eyes dart toward his daughter, and Steve gets it. Understands that Danny is able to push his fears aside for the sake of his daughter.

"I'm proud of you," he says, voice thick. Refuses to let Danny shrug it off, because it _is _a big deal, being buried beneath mounds of pillows and blankets. Kisses Danny before the man can protest.

"Steve, I promise, I won't leave you again," Danny says. "I was a fool."

Steve wants to say something like, _You're damn right you were, _but what comes out is:"Marry me?"

They've been down this road before, and Danny's already accepted his proposal, but after everything that's happened, Steve's uncertain where they stand with regard to taking that next step in their relationship.

"You sure you still want me?" Danny's voice is filled with doubt.

Yawning, Grace pipes in before Steve can assure Danny that, yes, he does still want him, had never _stopped _wanting him. "Can I be the flower girl?"

Steve can't hold back a grin, and he reaches over to ruffle Grace's hair. "I was hoping that you would."

He glances at Danny, to make sure that he's not jumped the gun. There's a look on Danny's face that hits Steve, hard, in the gut, and steals his breath away. Steve isn't sure what to make of the look at first, because it's a new look, or maybe just a new twist on an old look. And when it finally registers to him what it is that he's seeing, his breath quickens and his heart starts to do this funny little fluttering thing in his chest.

It's love. Danny's looking at him with pure, unadulterated love, and Steve's mouth goes completely dry, his palms sweaty.

Grace stifles another yawn and snuggles against her father. She grabs onto Steve's wrist before he can pull it back, and he wraps his arm around her, holding both Danny and Grace in his embrace.

"You wanna take a nap with Danno and me? We baked chocolate chip cookies, for after dinner, but we need to take a nap first, and you look tired."

Steve nods. "Yeah." His heart catches in his throat. "I'd like that very much."

His heart and mind are not yet in sync. The onslaught of quickly spoken words reminds him of simpler times - his sister, when she'd been younger; of Danny, before he'd left.

"C'mon," Danny says, voice husky with affection. He tightens his hold on Steve, kisses him on the cheek.

"A little rest will do all of us some good; I've got a feeling that it's not every day that my little girl, pre-teen," he amends when Grace clears her throat. "And my _fiancé_," he blushes, "will find it in their hearts to indulge me in a bit of 'Throwback Thursday' sentimentality."

Grace groans and pushes up on her elbow. She playfully slaps her father on the chest. "Danno."

"Ouch, my wounded pride." Danny rubs at the spot on his chest. "I know, I know, it's not Thursday." Danny shrugs off his daughter's chastisement - purposefully ignoring her not so subtle correction as to what 'Throwback Thursday' really means - with a quiet chuckle.

Shaking her head, Grace rolls her eyes. With a long-suffering sigh, she settles down beside her father, using him as a pillow. Though there are plenty of pillows around them to choose from, Steve prefers to use Danny as a pillow as well.

"Close your eyes, Uncle Steve," Grace advises, her voice full of maturity that reminds Steve she's no longer a little girl.

Steve closes his eyes, and lets the day, the week, the past year and a half and how many ever weeks, days, and hours have passed between now and the rocky road that he and Danny have been on, wash over him.

_Throwback Thursday, indeed, _Steve thinks, never wanting to revisit those Thursdays that Danny hadn't been with him, again.

It's been a long time, decades maybe, since he's taken a nap, and, though it's late in the afternoon, and a nap will mess with his routine, he thinks that maybe he should do this kind of thing more often.

It feels good.

More than that, it feels right.

"Babe, stop thinking so hard, and sleep," Danny says.

And, with the warmth of Danny and Grace beside him, Steve does just that. He stops thinking, and lets the calm, reassuring presence of the two people he loves most in the world lull him to sleep.

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><p>Too cheesy? Too many tears shed? Not enough tears shed?<p> 


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